


To Capture Your Image As Well As Your Heart

by musicalsarelife



Series: Photo AU [1]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alcholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, But everyone's different, F/M, Feels, Fluff, Getting Together, Hopefully not too explicit, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Photography, Very brief GrantairexOFC, Withdrawal, eventually, like a lot of them, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-06
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-10 15:16:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 36,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/787486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicalsarelife/pseuds/musicalsarelife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire is a photographer, paid to take pictures at a prestigious DC university.  While he does so, a gorgeous student catches his eye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this photo: http://data.whicdn.com/images/53008621/380371_thumb.jpg
> 
> Also inspired by the fact that the man who took my senior portrait had Grantaire curls.

Grantaire rolled his eyes, as the young blonde woman flounced out of the room.  Bleached hair, manicured nails, heavy make-up…and this was at least the dozenth or so of the same type he had seen in the two hours he had been taking photos.  This didn’t even include the hour and a half of equipment setup and company registration, which had been conducted by a balding man, who looked as if he wished to be anywhere other than the third floor of the university’s student center at 8:30 on a September morning. 

He threw a look at Eponine, who shrugged her shoulders.  “Private university girls, what do you expect?” 

“I suppose.”  Photographing the senior class of a prestigious D.C. university may not be the most interesting thing, but it was a paycheck, so he had some freedom to do his own photography on the side. 

Grantaire turned to straighten out the caps and gowns on the rack, when he heard a calm voice, “This is the room for the senior portraits, right?” 

Eponine was just saying, “Yes, just come over here–” when Grantaire turned to see the new arrival. 

“No!”  Was the only word able to come out of his mouth for a moment, because the young man standing next to his friend, was by far, the most stunning person he has ever seen. 

He could be a god.  Ares or Zeus…no, _Apollo_ , Grantaire’s mind supplied.  Apollo, the sun god, with his golden hair, sky blue eyes, and a face that glowed like the dawn.  Yes, this young man could have been the god of light and music and truth.  Absolutely.  Grantaire’s mind would have gone off on more Shakespearean level odes to the aura of this man, except that he realized that both Eponine and the man were staring in stark, possibly terrified, confusion. 

After a moment of awkward silence, Grantaire shrugged in a way that was far too forced to be nonchalant.  “‘Ponine, isn’t it time for you to take a break?  I can take this nice, young man’s picture.” 

The man looked confused, and Eponine looked at him like he had grown another head.  Grantaire could see her thinking, _We’ve been working together all day, ‘Taire._  

She opened her mouth to reply, but Grantaire quickly grabbed her shoulders, and ushered her out the door, rambling far too loudly about unions and labor regulations and minimum wage, which he realized had nothing to do with his argument, but he decided to ignore that fact.

 “Please, sir, sit!”  With a flourish, which was absolutely not full of nerves, Grantaire waved to his photo station, taking the young man’s order form in the process. 

Still apprehensive, the god sat down. 

“Alright, Apollo, back straight, look at the top of the camera lens, and smile!”  Grantaire’s voice seemed far too loud and too excited to his ears.  He could only hope that his golden-haired subject didn’t notice. 

“…A–Apollo?”  The man asked  

 _Goddamn, did he really say that out loud._   “Apollo, Greek god of sun and music–” 

“I know who Apollo is, but why in the world would you call me that?”

 “Blonde curls, blue eyes…I assumed you would get it quite often.”  Grantaire was fairly certain that feigning innocence wasn’t working. 

“No, never…” 

“Well, you should.”  Grantaire really hoped his grin wasn’t too maniacal. 

That finally elicited a small, if very confused, smile.  “Not many people I know make classical allusions in everyday conversation.” 

“What?  At this fancy, expensive university of yours?  That should be a crime.” 

The god laughed in earnest this time.  _And oh dear, if that didn’t make him even more lovely…_  

After the laughter faded and silence fell for a long moment, Grantaire nearly whispered, “Okay, let’s do this.” 

The Apollo sat up.  With such posture, the godliness was even more palpable. 

“Smile.” 

A prim smile crossed his face. 

“Oh come now, let’s see some teeth.” 

The young man grinned uncomfortably. 

Grantaire’s eyes grew wide.  “…Without looking insane preferably…” 

Golden hair fell into his face, as he ducked his head.  “Sorry,” he shook hair out of his eyes, “I hate getting my photo taken.” 

 _What?  Someone so gorgeous as you?  That is an outrage!_ He plastered a huge, cocky grin across his face, “Ah, you see, that’s because you haven’t your photo taken by _me_.” 

Apollo raised an eyebrow and smirked.  “Twenty-one years of family and three professional photographers haven’t succeeded.  Are you really so confident?” 

“Dear Apollo, Orestes, and Nisus!”  Grantaire swept to the camera, “I am phenomenally talented,” he said in complete seriousness. 

The young man on the chair erupted into laughter that lit his face. 

Grantaire snapped a photo. 

At the sound of the click and the flash of lights, the young man looked up, surprised.

Grantaire peeked at the preview photo, “Breathtaking.”  And, it was.  His shining curls fell around his face, soft around the stunning lines of his jaw and cheekbones.  The grin made his eyes crinkle, and everything warmed his face, so he became not just the god of the sun, but the sun itself.   

“You couldn’t use that, though.”  The man defended. 

“Yes, but instead of that terrifying face, just do that.  Think of me acting ridiculous and smile.” 

He did, and well, if he was trying to stop Grantaire from falling in love with him, he was failing pretty miserably. 

Once he relaxed, Apollo was a lovely subject, obeying each of Grantaire’s instructions to sit at this angle or that, tilt the chin up or down, lean forwards or back.  And, with each shot, Grantaire couldn’t help but think of taking this young man out, taking his photo on the Lincoln Memorial, with the glow of the sunrise illuminating his hair like a halo, shots under a streetlamp that cast brooding shadows across his face, or in a studio with proper lighting that really made his eyes sparkle, that would catch the light blush on his marble cheeks, where he and Grantaire would be alone, and could… _‘Taire do not let your mind wander too far in any direction, but especially not that one._  

“Let’s try on the cap and gown.” 

He helped his Apollo into the long, black robe, and handed him a mock diploma and rose.  Really, everything started completely innocently.  As the man sat down, Grantaire reached out, brushing a few flyaway hairs from his face, just so they wouldn’t ruin the picture.  He fussed to get an errant curl to lay correctly, and somehow, he lost control of his cursed hands.  Without his strict permission, his fingers found their way to the golden man’s chin, tilting it up slightly.  He froze when he realized his hand acting without his knowledge.  For a long second, he stared into those bright blue eyes, and he wasn’t sure he remembered how to breathe.  Blue eyes like pools of water, where he would happily drown, if just to gaze on them for a moment longer. 

He snapped back.  “Hold your chin at that angle, please.”  Professionalism was forced to cover his words.  When he looked up from the camera to see Eponine, back from her imposed break, standing in the doorway with a raised eyebrow.  In what may have been an awkwardly high-pitched voice, which he really hoped didn’t sound as frantic as it was, he said, “Well, that would be it, I think.  You’ll get proofs in a couple weeks.  Lovely, working with you.” 

The god smiled on his devotee.  “Thanks, it was…nice.” 

“I–uh–um–my card.”  Grantaire fumbled to pull his business card from his jacket pocket.  He offered it to the man, who looked a little confused.  “Call me when you get the photos…to see–uh…if you like them.  I’d like the feedback.” 

The other man smiled, “Okay.” 

When he had left the room, Grantaire found himself nearly hyperventilating.  Eponine gently pushed him to sit in the chair. 

“The hell was that?” 

“I–I–I don’t even…” 

“That is in no way normal protocol.” 

“I know, but–” 

“But, he’s cute, I get it.”

“He’s a god.”  Grantaire breathed. 

“Okay, so did you get his number?”  She asked, suddenly businesslike. 

“Well, no–” 

“Name, then?  For Facebook.” 

“I–well…” 

“Goddammit, ‘Taire!” 

“Sorry, I didn’t know how to even bring such a thing up!”  He held up his hands, as if seeking absolution. 

“Wait!  I know exactly how to fix this!” 

“How?”  Grantaire jumped up. 

Eponine pulled the top card from the pile, where they kept all the paperwork and waved it like a flag.  “This, dear Grantaire, has his name, phone number, permanent address, and dorm address.  Everything you need!” 

“Oh god, ‘Ponine, no!”  He covered his face in his hands.  “That’s too much like a stalker, even for me!” 

“What?  You failed doing everything on your own!  It’s called resourcefulness.” 

“Eponine Thénardier, no.”  He said, with finality. 

“Ugh fine!”  She sauntered back to the stack of papers.  She glanced back at Grantaire, “You’re sure?” 

“Yes.” 

She was about to put it down, when Grantaire leaped forward.

“Well, maybe just his name!”  He stepped forward then froze. 

Eponine grinned and looked at the card, “Enjolras Fortier.”


	2. Chapter 2

The rest of the day was rough.  He took photos, but he couldn’t seem to focus on anything other than the blue eyes and golden hair of Apollo…Enjolras…Grantaire deemed it an appropriately majestic name for him. 

He sighed, looking at the clock.  Finally, it was time to pack up.  Eponine shook her head.  “I really hope half of those turned out okay.  You really weren’t up to snuff after pretty boy left.” 

Grantaire glared at her.  “I need a drink,” he groaned. 

Eponine gave him a worried look, “Grantaire…I thought you were trying to–” 

“I’ve cut down!”  He protested.  Off her skeptical face, he continued, “I have!  Eponine, do you think I’d be functional, if I didn’t at least slow down?”  Her brow was still furrowed, so he sighed, “Look, I tried to just give up, cold turkey, but oh god, the withdrawal…‘Ponine, I can’t do that.  I’m slowly cutting back, I promise.  Just…I need time.” 

She frowned but nodded.  She pressed a kiss to his forehead.  “Be careful, ‘Taire.  You know I worry.” 

“I do.”  He pulled her into a hug.  “Thank you.  You are the best friend I could ask for.” 

“I know.”  She smiled and smacked him playfully, as she pulled away. 

The finished loading the lighting equipment and cameras and left.

* * *

After the next week, Eponine looked like she was going to kill Grantaire. 

“Eponine, whyyyy hasn’t he called?”  He groaned, flopping forward, banging his head repeatedly on his desk. 

“Because, he hasn’t seen the proofs yet.  You told him to let him know how he liked them.  You haven’t even finished editing them!”  The near constant complaining was more than she was in the mood to tolerate. 

“Oh, come on!  It had to be obvious I was asking him out!”  He stared, incredulous, at her. 

“To me, to you, yes, but this boy–” 

“Enjolras.” 

“Enjolras, yes, doesn’t seem like the type to go out on a limb.  He probably thinks you actually meant it in a business sense.” 

“Jesus, I’ve been partner-zoned.”

Eponine looked at him, like he was crazy.  “Partner-zoned?” 

“I don’t know, like friend-zoned only like a business partner?” 

“Okay…” 

“Look, I don’t know, I just can’t stop thinking about him!”  He flung his arms out in exasperation. 

“I’m sorry, sweetie.”  She reached to pat him on the shoulder. 

Another loud moan came from the man with his face still planted on the table. 

“When did you have you latest drink?” 

“Last night…” 

Skeptical, she inquired, “How many did you have last night?” 

“A…lot…” 

“‘Taire!” 

“I’m trying!”  He finally sat up and started editing his photos. 

“I know, but…” She trailed off, when she noticed Grantaire staring at his computer screen.  “What is it?” 

“I just…I forgot I took this.” 

She looked over his shoulder to see the picture of Enjolras laughing. 

“It was the first shot I took with him…” 

“He is hot, I’ll give you that.”  She nodded. 

Grantaire remained silent. 

“You know, that’s really a beautiful photo…” 

“Well, he’s a beautiful subject.” 

“Yes, but seriously.”  She leaned in to point, “The frame, and his smile…and really, I don’t know how you pulled this off in the horrible lighting from that room.” 

He smiled, “He just glowed on his own.” 

Eponine hit him lightly. 

“Too much?”  He asked. 

“Too much.”  She agreed.  She watched Grantaire moon over the photo he had taken, “But, R, I am so so serious.  Just do your work.  You are so talented.  You can just do this artistically,” she gestured at the photos around his desk, “You won’t need this stupid gig eventually, but now you need to stay employed.” 

“I know.”  He sighed and clicked through the photos, picking some to put on a proof sheet.

* * *

Another week flew by, and Grantaire was opening a wine bottle.  He cursed when the corkscrew cut his hand, while he fumbled.  _Karma_ , he thought.  He had told Eponine he would lay off the booze tonight, when she and Jehan had headed out to cheer Jehan up after his breakup, but he just couldn’t bring himself to leave the bottle alone.  And since Jehan would take a lot of cheering up, they wouldn’t be home for hours, and probably wouldn’t notice anything.  Since that one photo of Enjolras, he hadn’t found inspiration for anything.  Therefore, everything he did was reduced to portraits of spoiled university students and sticky babies of rich parents, who would grow to be selfish, spoiled university students and rich parents themselves.  It made him sick, and he was already shaking from his lack of alcohol, so he figured it was a good call. 

He had finally bandaged his hand and poured himself a glass, when his phone chimed with a text. 

Taking a quick swig of wine, he swiped his finger across the screen to see the message, and promptly choked on the beverage. 

_This is Enjolras.  The blonde of whom you took the photos a couple weeks ago…Well, you probably don’t remember me, but you said to tell you when I got the photos…_  

_They came today.  They’re beautiful._

Grantaire nearly spilled the wine, while setting it down, before fumbling with his phone and sending it flying across the couch.  He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair, before he was able to pick up the phone and text back, with shaking hands: 

_Apollo!  Of course I remember you!  So glad you like them! –R_  

Grantaire didn’t even look at his wine, while he stared waiting for the reply and nearly stopped breathing over the course of the ten minutes it took. 

_Really they’re wonderful.  I can’t remember ever liking photos of myself before.  They seemed silly…out of curiosity, that first photo you took?  Is there a way I could get a copy?  I’d like to see it._  

It took a while for Grantaire to force his breathing back to normal.  He swallowed hard as he replied. 

_They aren’t saved on the company computer, but I saved it._ God, he hoped that didn’t sound too stalkerish.  _If you like, I live in the District, around Waterfront.  You can come pick up a copy, or bring a flash drive to the file or something…–R_  

This time the text dinged almost immediately. 

_Perfect.  I’ll even be in that area tomorrow.  Maybe around 8 ish?_  

Grantaire texted an address back.  When he finally put away his phone, he had just stopped shaking. 

Then, suddenly a grin split his face.  He grabbed his camera and sprinted out the door and down the street.  As he took pictures of the glow of the metro, the cars speeding by, the shimmer of the moon on the trees, he laughed.  What better inspiration than the promise of a visit from an angel?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope people are enjoying this. I'm going to try to update as regularly as possible. I have the story written, so it'll depend on whether or not I have time to post. I'm graduating college soon, so things may get busy, but I'll do my best!


	3. Chapter 3

Grantaire probably changed clothes fifty times, before his doorbell rang. 

He had come back home, looking like a mess from wading in the Potomac River, in attempts to get a photo of a duck.  His clothes had dried, but mud and dirt from the water had caked on anyway.  Momentarily forgetting that Enjolras was coming by, he changed into his normal ratty sweats and t-shirt.  When he remembered, he leapt over the coffee table to get to his bedroom.  He changed into a button down shirt and slacks. 

 _No!  What are you thinking?  This isn’t a date; you’re going to freak him out…_  

Then he changed into a pair of jeans and brown t-shirt, which he removed once he realized a lingering wine stain below the collar.  Then he went through outfit after outfit, each one being too formal, too casual, too provocative, just unflattering… 

He was just pulling on a nice-ish pair of jeans and a short sleeved, plaid shirt, when he heard the broken chime of the bell he had never bothered to fix.  He nearly tripped over himself, on the way to the door. 

Once he opened the door, he had to bit his lip to keep from gasping.  His Apollo looked perfect.  His curly hair was brushed back into a short ponytail, and he wore a dark suit and tie under his raincoat.  After they exchanged quick greetings, he frowned, “Did I interrupt something?” 

Grantaire cocked his head, “Of course not, why?” 

“Well…your shirt…” Enjolras’s eyes flickered down, “And your belt.” 

Mentally, Grantaire cursed, “Ha, yeah, just got in from a shoot…sort of rushed to change.”  He muttered nervously, fastening his belt, and then turning away to unbutton and re-button his shirt correctly.  “Um, my computer’s in here.”  He led Enjolras into his bedroom, and Enjolras laughed. 

“Wow, you’re just like ‘Ferre.”  He giggled, taking in the clothes Grantaire had strewn across the floor in his dressing panic and neglected to put away. 

“‘Ferre?”  Grantaire took Enjolras’s flash drive and quickly turned to his computer to hide the flush spreading across his face. 

“Combeferre, my roommate.”  Enjolras said.  “He’s a philosophy major, who can’t be bothered by such trivial, earthly things as picking up clothes.  But, he's my best friend, and we work as roommates, so not much more you could want.”  Enjolras caught a glimpse of the photo he was here to collect.  “Oh…” 

Grantaire froze.  “Yes?” 

“I–wow…that’s…I look good.”  He laughed sheepishly. 

“Well, yes…” 

“I mean, I figured it would be a good picture, and I wanted to see it, but really…you’re fantastic.  I’ve never had pictures of myself that I’ve liked before.” 

“Really?  You?”  Grantaire raised an eyebrow, as the photo copied to Enjolras’s drive. 

“Not really, why?”  Enjolras shrugged. 

Grantaire handed the drive to Enjolras.  Before he let go, he asked, “Hasn’t anyone ever told you that you’re fucking gorgeous?” 

Enjolras’s eyes flew open wide, as he slowly took the flash drive from Grantaire, and put it in his pocket.  “Well…not really.  My parents always say, ‘you’re so handsome,’ and whatnot, but they’re my parents…” 

 _WHAT ABOUT BOYFRIENDS, GIRLFRIENDS, YOUR MAILMAN, ANYONE WHO ISN’T BLIND OR RELATED TO YOU??_  

“Well…you are.”  Grantaire suddenly felt his nerves creep over him again, flushing his cheeks, and he looked at a stain in the carpet. 

“Um…well, thanks…for the photo, I mean.  And, for…what you said.  That was really nice.” 

 _“Really nice”?  Fuck…_  

Grantaire walked Enjolras to the door.  For a moment, they stared at one another before Enjolras murmured, “Thank you, again,” and turned to go. 

Grantaire returned inside his apartment and leaned heavily against the door.  After about a second, he swore under his breath, threw the door open, and ran outside.  “Enjolras!”  He called, catching sight of the blonde at the foot of the stairs leading to his door. 

The other man turned just in time to see Grantaire slip on the wet concrete of the landing. 

Now at the foot of the staircase, Grantaire swore heavily.  He felt pain blooming all across his back and shoulders, and his face was bleeding slightly from where it scraped the railing.  He closed his eyes, leaning against the rail, when he felt an arm lift under his. 

“Oh Jesus, are you alright?” 

Enjolras was, once again, an angel from heaven come to rescue him.  Slowly, they made their way back up to Grantaire’s apartment. 

“‘M fine,” he muttered bitterly. 

“Do you have a first aid kit?”  He asked, after depositing Grantaire on the sofa. 

After gaping for a moment, he replied, “Under the kitchen sink.”  Eponine had insisted they keep one on hand, after the many nights he drunkenly stumbled on his way home. 

Locating it, Enjolras commanded, “Take off your shirt.” 

Grantaire stared. 

“Oh sorry, is that okay?  I just want to make sure there aren’t any really bad cuts on your back.” 

 _Oh…_ Grantaire almost deflated, “Yeah, sure.”  He unbuttoned his shirt, wincing, as he already felt his shoulders becoming tender. 

Enjolras carefully cleaned the gouges across Grantaire’s lower back.  Every so often, Grantaire would hiss when Enjolras hit a particularly sensitive area, and the blond would apologize, before continuing with even more care.  “There.”  Enjolras said, as he placed a couple bandages on the wounds.  “Before I get to your face, do you have an ice pack?” 

“Uhh…vodka bottle…”  The dark haired man smirked sheepishly. 

Enjolras frowned.  “Well, if that’s all you have…” He sighed before going to the freezer and getting the icy bottle.  Then he resumed his activities, disinfecting the cuts across Grantaire’s face. 

“You’re good at this.”  Grantaire whispered, sounding much less like a joke than he wished.

“Well, my friend Joly’s pre-med, so he’s taught me over the last couple years.  I’ve gotten in a few scrapes, so it’s useful to know.” 

“‘A few scrapes’?  You?”  Grantaire really was trying to distract himself from the intimacy of Enjolras deeply focused on him, albeit not in a way he had ever intended. 

Enjolras chuckled.  “Well…at protests and things…let’s just say, the D.C. political scene is active, and I don’t like to sit idly by.” 

Grantaire’s brow furrowed slightly, but he said nothing, and Enjolras placed a final bandage across the cut on Grantaire’s forehead. 

They held each other’s gaze for a long moment, barely feeling like they were breathing. 

Letting out a sharp huff of air, Enjolras asked in a rush, “Do you want to go out some time?” 

Grantaire nearly choked on his words, “Wha–REALLY?”  After everything that had happened, he figured he had no dignity to even ask his god out. 

“Well, yeah…I mean, it’s fine if you don’t, I just–” 

“No, no, no, I’d love to, I just thought…”  He gestured at his wounds, “After this, you would want to get as far from me as possible…” 

Enjolras’s smile seemed to light the dim room, “Well, when we go out, we’ll just make sure we go to places without stairs.” 

For the first time in what seemed like ages, Grantaire laughed.  Almost instinctively, he leaned forward, into the blonde, “It’s a date.” 

When he was able to limp his way to the door to see Enjolras out, the blonde leaned in and kissed him softly. 

The flutter that sent itself down his spine would have had him jumping for joy, had he been in the shape where it wouldn’t have sent him to the E.R.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kind responses to this story! Now, we're beginning to get into the actual plot. Yay! Hope you all enjoyed the chapter.


	4. Chapter 4

Scheduling a date proved harder than planned. 

Enjolras, Grantaire was learning, was incredibly involved on campus and off, and he was always running this event or another, leading such and such a protest for something. 

With each message like: 

 _Tuesday? –R_  

 _Sorry!  Student Association Town Hall, then College Dems meeting…_  

Grantaire really felt like he had to assume that Enjolras regretted asking him out and kissing him on the stairs.  It was fine.  He couldn’t expect to hold a god’s attention for so long, could he?  He usually found solace at the bottom of a wine bottle, which earned glares from Eponine the morning after and concerned looks from their other roommate Jehan for days. 

Then, one afternoon, Grantaire’s phone chimed. 

 _I am so sorry I’ve been flaky these past weeks.  It’s just been a bit of a rush, with new policies and such going on.  If you’re free tonight, I’m hosting a meeting.  A small political thing.  It’s not an ideal first date, but I think you’d find it interesting.  Maybe get tea afterwards?_  

Grantaire grimaced.  To be honest, he hated politics.  The most involved in the political he had ever gotten was voting, and he didn’t even really think that did much good.  But, at least, he’d see Apollo, that was a start.  And…he liked tea…tea was good.  Sure… 

And, that was how Grantaire ended up standing outside of a small café at 8:00 p.m. in the southwest part of D.C.  

For several minutes he stared at the front door.  The place seemed empty.  Nothing like a meeting, and Grantaire didn’t even see Enjolras.  He swallowed hard.  Stood up…for a political group meeting.  Grantaire had hit a new low, and was calculating exactly how close the nearest bar would be, when Enjolras burst from a door in the corner.  Today his hair was wild, and he was clad in only jeans, t-shirt, and red jacket.  He even had a pair of thick rimmed glasses perched on his nose.  Grantaire still felt his heart catch in his throat. 

“Grantaire, hey, come in!  Forgot to tell you we meet in the back room here.” 

He barely let Grantaire get a word in, as he took his hand and pulled him through the cafe. 

The back room was warmly lit, wooden tables and chairs set up, many covered with newspapers and signs. 

“Grantaire, this is my roommate Combeferre,” a man with light brown hair waved from the corner, “our suite mates, Marius and Courfeyrac…” 

“Hello,” a man covered in freckles smiled as another with short, dark curls winked and grinned. 

“And, Joly, Bossuet, Feuilly, and Bahorel!”  The four sat around a table.  One was wrapped in a scarf and had a box of tissues in front of him.  Grantaire tried to smile at them, but felt very awkward. 

“Sit wherever you like.”  Enjolras instructed, turning to take his place at the front of the room.  Grantaire planted himself in a chair next to Marius and Courfeyrac. 

“Anyway, to the matter at hand.”  Enjolras pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and opened a folder of papers.  “In the last meeting we discussed the counter-protest…” 

Grantaire listened as his god spoke about the needs and rights of the people.  A small part of him had to smile.  As pointless as politics were, when Enjolras spoke, his eyes lit up like fire.  His hands moved deftly and concisely to make his points.  And, he was eloquent!  His words just as poetic as Jehan’s, though more angry and athletic.  If he tuned out the words themselves, Grantaire could easily listen to the cadence of Enjolras’s voice forever. 

However, he was far too sober not to register the ideals on which Enjolras expounded. 

 _The People deserve a chance at a good life!  They suffer at the hands of big business and the oppressive political figures!  We must lead them in a fight to claim what is promised to them, not just in our political documents, but what is promised to them just by their being human!_  

If it had been anyone else orating, Grantaire would have left.  As it was, he contented himself to criticizing the ideals of the speech in his mind, while admiring Enjolras’s obvious passion, but he could not stop the cynical flow of words in his mind. 

Suddenly, Enjolras stopped speaking, and Grantaire immediately felt everyone’s eyes on him. 

“Grantaire, did you have something to say?”  Enjolras seemed to be fixing a death glare on him. 

Grantaire looked from one man to another.  While no one else looked like they wanted to hurt him, each one gaped, except for Courfeyrac, who looked as if he had never seen something funnier in his life, “I–Well…no, no, go on.” 

“But, you laughed.”  Enjolras’s voice was frighteningly even and low. 

 _That was out loud?_ Grantaire cursed himself.  “Nothing, really.” 

“I would have you share your thoughts.”  It was a command.  Grantaire swallowed hard. 

“I only believe that you are being a little naïve.”  Grantaire began slowly. 

Enjolras marched to stand in front of Grantaire, “Do you not believe that the people of the country deserve better than what their government says they do?  And do they not have the right to fight for what they deserve?”  Enjolras looked purely offended by these thoughts. 

“No, you misunderstand.”  Grantaire corrected, “I believe your ideals are admirable.  I just think you overestimate what a group of students can do to change things.” 

Enjolras froze for a moment, before continuing with vigor, “Ah, but you see, it will not just be us.  The people of the nation will rise in support.” 

“You sound like your staging a revolution.”  Grantaire had to laugh. 

“It is one!  It needn’t be violent, but we will be part of an important change!” 

“That’s madness…” 

“Excuse me?”  Enjolras eyebrows nearly hit the ceiling. 

“No matter what the cause, people would rather hold the dream of being rich than face the reality of their meaningless lives.  They will complain and say they support you, but if there is ever a call to action, very few will be bothered to help.” 

“Do you have so little faith in humanity?”  The blond snapped. 

“As a general rule, yes.” 

Enjolras locked eyes with him.  His mouth hung open for a long second, and Grantaire saw something very akin to heartbreak flit behind the man’s eyes.   

 _My dearest Apollo, this isn’t even close to the extent to which I can disappoint you…_  

After a long second, Enjolras turned away, “You are wrong.  If you fail to believe in your fellows, you can believe in no one, and that is the trap that keeps good men from doing anything.”  And, then he launched into another speech. 

Each time Enjolras glanced at him, his eyes hardened, and Grantaire wished very much that he had a glass of wine. 

Once the meeting ended, Enjolras approached him, and all business, asked, “Could we get a rain check on the tea?  I’m exhausted.” 

Grantaire smiled sadly, “Of course.”  _I don’t blame you.  Of course you don’t want to spend more time with me.  I wouldn’t…And, honestly, I don’t think I can look into your disheartened eyes without a very strong drink._  

Enjolras raised a hand, as if to touch Grantaire’s arm, but suddenly dropped it and turned.  “Can you two clean up?  I need to…check some things.”  Enjolras nodded to Courfeyrac and Joly, then bustled out without another word or a spare glance in Grantaire’s direction. 

Back at home, Grantaire poured himself a strong whiskey and soda, then another, and another. 

When Jehan came through the front door, he grimaced, “I guess the date didn’t go too well?” 

“Considering I succeeded in insulting all of his beliefs before we were even alone…yeah…” 

Jehan sat next to Grantaire and pulled him into a hug.  “It’s okay, sweetie, you’ll do better next time. 

_As if there will be a next time…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, now, it gets sad…


	5. Chapter 5

However, there was a next time.  Grantaire really should have known better than to think he would leave the poor man alone.  He had never been able to stay away from his addictions, and Enjolras was no different. 

Actually, he was worse.  In the case of alcohol, there was always a point in the night, where he would need to stop himself.  And, when he desired the burn of liquor, it was usually fairly easy to procure. 

With Enjolras, nothing in his body stopped him.  There was no moment when drink overtook his senses and forced him to sleep.  He followed the man, where he could, whenever he could.  And, since there had been no further attempts from Enjolras to schedule an actual date, the only places Grantaire could follow were the meetings at the cafes. 

Now, he would enjoy a drink or more before the meetings.  It made the disgusted looks on Enjolras’s face easier to take. 

The alcohol made all his filters, which were low to begin, fly out the door, so he would poke and prod Enjolras, try to make the marble god lose his composure.  In truth, he couldn’t believe in any cause for which Enjolras fought, but the passion the man held was almost convincing…and if his eyes lit up in a fiercely beautiful way when he was angry…well, that was just coincidental. 

For Grantaire, each meeting would end in the same way.  During the meeting, it was a toss-up.  Sometimes Enjolras would humor his milder barbs, others Enjolras would fight, and every so often, Enjolras would completely ignore that he was there.  After the meeting though, Enjolras would march up to him.  He would stare, with his sadly disappointed face, before he sighed and turned on his heel and walked away.  Grantaire would take this as a cue to take a long swallow from his flask. 

A couple weeks went by.  The sixth or seventh meeting Grantaire attended, Jehan and Eponine decided to pick him up.  Enjolras had stormed off more quickly than usual. 

Grantaire stared into his flask. 

“Where’s pretty boy?”  Eponine asked. 

“Left.” 

“Why?” 

Grantaire smirked humorlessly, “Why do you think?”  He raised his flask in a silent toast, then tipped the rest of its contents back. 

“I hope you won’t let his high and mightiness get you down!”  Courfeyrac strode over and clapped Grantaire on the shoulder.  “I think you’re very good for him.” 

“Really?”  Grantaire raised an eyebrow. 

“Really!  I haven’t seen anyone get this much of a rise out of him forever.  It’s good to know his face hasn’t froze in that emotionless mask of his.”  Courfeyrac grinned. 

“‘Taire is very good at getting people angry.”  Jehan set a comforting hand on his shoulder. 

“And you are…?” 

“Jeh…” 

Grantaire looked up.  Courfeyrac had taken Jehan’s hand in his, and they were staring at one another.  Eponine was doing her best to stifle a smile, and a bright red flush was creeping its way up Jehan’s face. 

“I didn’t get that.”  Courfeyrac’s grin had faded to a stunned smile. 

After a deep breath, Jehan smiled back, “Jean Prouvaire, Jehan to my friends.” 

“Do I count as a friend?”  Courfeyrac raised an eyebrow. 

When Jehan honest-to-god giggled and nodded, “Sure,” Grantaire groaned and planted his face into the table.

“I’m Courfeyrac,” Courfeyrac, who hadn’t let go of Jehan’s hand, led the poet to another table. 

“Aww, looks like both my boys are in love!”  Eponine crooned. 

“Stop…this isn’t fair.  Of course, Jehan immediately finds a boy who’s gonna fall for him…” He raised his head briefly to glare at the two blushing boys in the corner.  “He would be that lucky.”  He beat his head against table. 

“He would be that sober…” Eponine pointed out. 

“Fuck you.”  Grantaire growled, abruptly pushing the seat back. 

“I’m just saying–” 

“Yeah, I don’t get it enough from Enjolras at all, who can’t stand me, by the way!”  He realized he was shouting when Courfeyrac and Jehan looked over, from where they had been going through pamphlets.  “Just, fuck it.”  He said, through gritted teeth, before storming away.

* * *

The next two days saw Grantaire very drunk.  He adored Jehan, he really did.  He was the best goddamn roommate ever, neat, actually the sweetest person alive, and always cooking or baking.  Grantaire was pretty sure he would wake up to cookies or cakes at least once a week, and Jehan would usually look at whatever microwave meal Grantaire had, would cluck his tongue in disapproval, then proceed to make him some nearly gourmet dinner. 

However, when Jehan fell in love, he was nearly intolerable. 

The poems he wrote on a normal basis, found themselves everywhere in the apartment.  Odes to love and life by his cereal bowl and toothbrush.  His normally ethereal quality seemed to actually glow, and positivity seemed to radiate out of his pores.  It wasn’t like the poet was trying to rub it in his face, but trying to stop the energy was as useful as trying to stop an atomic bomb. 

Grantaire didn’t begrudge his friend’s happiness…well, maybe a bit, but only because he was miserable.  Grantaire took a shot, as Eponine sat next to him, and they both watched Jehan whistle and dance about the room, dusting. 

“It would be sickening, if he weren’t so adorable.”  She raised her glass of orange juice, which Grantaire clinked against his own mug of coffee, which may have had a little too much whiskey in it. 

“I’m happy for him…” Grantaire insisted. 

“Me, too…” She looked over to Grantaire, “If it makes you feel better, I’m harboring my own unrequited love…” 

Grantaire nearly spat out his drink, “Wait–what?  You found a boy?  When was this?” 

She looked into her juice, as if she wished it were spiked, “At your goddamn meeting…” 

With wide eyes, he asked, “Who?” 

“Marius…the cute one, with the freckles.” 

Grantaire furrowed his brow for a moment, thinking.  _Marius, the one with the sweet smile…seems like the eternal virgin/romantic type…_ “I don’t think he’s seeing anyone…” 

“I talked to him after the meeting and exchanged numbers.  We’ve texted.  He sends me just fun, random thoughts, but he hasn’t asked me out.” 

“Random thoughts?  Sounds like he’s interested…just might be shy.” 

“I don’t know.  Everything he sends is cute, but like, platonic…classes, books, things like that.  Like something he would send any friend.” 

“Well, I’ll try to put in a good word for you at the meeting tonight.”  He saw Jehan swirl and take off his apron.  He looked over at the bottle of whiskey on their kitchen counter, and began calculating how many shots he could get away with, without Eponine noticing. 

“You’re going to the meeting?”  Jehan poured water into the electric kettle to start tea. 

“Yep…” 

“Great!  We can go together!” 

Grantaire looked up, “You’re going?” 

Jehan blushed, “Well…yes.  I mean, I like their politics, and they seem like a nice bunch…” 

“And, Courfeyrac?”  Eponine smirked. 

Hiding behind his empty mug, Jehan grinned, “And, Courfeyrac.”  Suddenly, Jehan sat down, and very seriously, questioned, “Is two days too soon to show him poetry?” 

After freezing for a second, Grantaire, said, “Maybe…but, who knows.  He may like it…” 

“I don’t know!”  Jehan buried his face in his hands, and the rest of the morning was spent counseling Jehan on his love life, because it was much easier than dealing with his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now, JehanxCourfeyrac come in!


	6. Chapter 6

So, maybe Grantaire did regret the number of drinks he had before the meeting.  After he had fallen very past tipsy, he briefly considered not going, but Jehan had texted: 

 _Meet me at the publishing house at 5:15.  We’ll walk to Musain together!  :-) xo_  

And, there was no resisting Jehan, when there were smileys and kisses.  He must have been excited to see Courfeyrac again. 

Jehan was waiting outside of the publishing house, where he was an editor, long brown hair pulled back from his face with a blue ribbon.  He grinned, as Grantaire approached, but his face fell quickly, “‘Taire, dear, have you been drinking?” 

“Lil’ bit…” 

“How much is a little?”  Jehan put a hand on Grantaire’s arm. 

“Nothin’!  ‘M fine.  I promise.” 

“I think we should get you home…”  He began to steer him away, but Grantaire shrugged the guiding arm off his shoulder. 

“Uh-uh…don’t wanna disappoint your boy…” 

“I’ll text Courf–” 

“No!  C’mon!”  He grabbed Jehan’s hand and practically dragged him down the street. 

He didn’t release Jehan’s hand, even once they reached the café. 

Courfeyrac approached them, “Should I be jealous?”  He sounded like he was trying to be casual and failing. 

“Ah–no, it’s just Grantaire being…Grantaire…”  Jehan quickly removed his hand from the other man’s. 

“No worries, Courfey, Jehan is yours!”  He winked at them, which made Jehan glare.  “You lovebirds have fun.” 

Grantaire swooped around and dropped into a chair next to Feuilly, in time to see Courfeyrac grin and slip a pink daisy into Jehan’s long hair. 

“Grantaire, how much have you had to drink?” 

Grantaire used all of his energy to focus on the body in front of him.  With the booze ever so slightly clouding his vision, Enjolras actually looked like an angel, halo and everything.  Grantaire forced a grin, “Not nearly enough, dearest Apollo.”  He raised his flask to the god. 

Enjolras’s eyes narrowed, but he turned away to start the meeting. 

The meeting went as most meetings did.  Except, Enjolras seemed more on edge than ever.  He kept glancing furiously at Grantaire, who tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach, by sipping from his flask, and creating more barbed comments than usual. 

Grantaire interrupted Enjolras’s passionate speech about education, snarking, “Oh, yes, ‘f course, reform schoolin’…” 

“A populace educated in arts as well as sciences is imperative to a progressive society!” 

“The ign’rant, will always be so.  We’re a soci’ty of fools, face’t!”  Grantaire laughed and started to take a swig of whiskey. 

“GRANTAIRE, PUT THE FLASK DOWN!”  Enjolras shouted suddenly. 

The sudden silence was deafening, as every eye in the room looked from Enjolras to Grantaire and back. 

Grantaire stood slowly, locked eyes with Enjolras and took a long drink. 

As he did, Enjolras stomped to Grantaire, ripped the flask from the drunk’s hands, and flung it across the room, nearly hitting Jehan in the process.  When Grantaire made a move to follow his drink, Enjolras grabbed him by the front of his shirt, forcing him to face him. 

“No.”  His blue eyes blazed with fire. 

“You can’t stop me.”  Grantaire sneered. 

Unable to form words, Enjolras let out a frustrated scream for a moment.  Then, his eyes clenched shut before opening.  He stared into Grantaire’s eyes, a breath away from his face, “Just leave.” 

Grantaire felt ice run through his veins.  He stood stock still for a long moment.  His gaze flickered to his flask on the floor, then to his Apollo’s eyes.  Much to his dismay, they seemed to be shining with what looked like tears.  That was unforgivable.  To make him angry was one thing, to make him cry…Grantaire really hated himself in that moment. 

He exited the back room.  The café had closed an hour ago, so the only light was what filtered from the street, much dimmer than the warm lights from the back. 

The sudden shift in light, plunged him into darkness.  He stumbled, cursing.  Then, his foot slipped on what seemed to be a stray napkin, sending him tumbling to the floor.  He felt a wave of nausea crash over him. 

In a moment, he felt a pair of arms hook under his shoulders, pulling him to the bathroom down the hall. 

He emptied the contents of his stomach into the toilet, very glad that he did not do so on the floor.  It had been a very long time since he had been so sick from alcohol.  He mentally checked the several steps he backtracked on his road to sobriety. 

While he threw up, a warm hand rubbed circles on his back… _Jehan_ , he thought to himself. 

“Goddammit, Grantaire, why would you do this?”  The mumbled words were not Jehan’s light pleading voice. 

Grantaire turned his head quickly, sending his vision reeling for a moment.  When he came back to himself, he looked at Enjolras looking impossibly tired.  Grantaire stared for what seemed an eternity.  Like this, Enjolras seemed almost human. 

“Why in the world would you keep doing this to yourself?  I see what you can do.  Why would you try to destroy yourself?” 

 _Because I am hopelessly in love with a man who hates me?  Because even on my best days, I am a mere mortal, while you are a Greek hero, and my best days are few and far between.  Because the liquor manages to dull the stabbing feeling in my chest each time I see you hurt or angry or distressed…_  

“Why do you care?”  Grantaire managed to ask instead, as Enjolras stood to fill a paper coffee cup with water. 

Enjolras whined.  His shoulders slumped, and Grantaire maneuvered so he could look at him.  Enjolras’s knuckles were white, gripping the sink hard.  “Does it ever occur to you that someone may care what you do with yourself?”  He snapped and pushed himself back, so he could lean against the wall.  He covered his eyes with his hands.  “Grantaire, I have seen you work!”  He dropped his hands, “I have seen you, and you can be amazing.  You are amazing.  Even your goddamn cynicism.”  Enjolras fell to his knees and took Grantaire’s face in his hands. 

Grantaire froze.  He tried to form words, but with Enjolras so close, he couldn’t. 

“When you are sober, or coherent at least, you keep me on my toes, keep me grounded, make sure my arguments are sound…”  Enjolras slid back, resting against the wall for a moment.  He stood and grabbed the cup of water from the sink.  He handed it to Grantaire, who rinsed his mouth then took a swallow of the water, grimacing at the bitterness. 

“You hate my cynicism.”  Grantaire muttered. 

“I hate that you become this!  That you have so little faith in the world tha–that you somehow think it is better to squander all the talents you have for the bottom o–of a wine bottle or flask of whiskey…”  Enjolras sighed and wiped tears from his eyes, which for some reason, made Grantaire want to cry as well. 

“You can be someone so wonderful.”  Enjolras’s voice was heavy, “So great.  I am not easily impressed by anything, but your work, your words!  When you are sober, it is phenomenal.” 

Grantaire didn’t realize he had started crying, until Enjolras knelt down and wiped the tears from his face.  Grantaire caught his hand, lacing their fingers together.  Enjolras didn’t pull away. 

“I just…I want you to believe me.  I want you to believe in this cause.  Not because you are any more positive about the world, but because all of my arguments have won you over, made it so you just can’t argue anymore.  I want to make you believe…and, if I snap…if I yell at you, because you’re sarcastic or cynical, it’s because I’m just human.  However many times you call me ‘Apollo,’ I am not an all-knowing, powerful being, not some marble statue…I snap.  I have a terrible temper, and I am far from perfect…”  Enjolras stared at their hands, absently running his thumb across Grantaire’s knuckles.  “I am very much human…” 

Grantaire smirked. 

“And, you…are very human, too…”  Enjolras tipped Grantaire’s chin up, “A very good human, if you just let yourself be you.” 

Looking into Enjolras’s impossibly bright, blue-grey eyes, Grantaire couldn’t breathe.  It was like judgement day and salvation, and suddenly, Grantaire could not stop the tears flooding down his face. 

“Oh god, Grantaire…”  Enjolras ran his hand through Grantaire’s black curls. 

“Please, don’t make me leave.”  Grantaire sobbed, falling forward into Enjolras’s arms, burying his face in Enjolras’s neck.  “Please, please, let me stay…” 

The blond wrapped his arms tighter around the other’s back.  “Of course, you can stay.”  He whispered into his ear. 

“And, don’t leave me.” 

“I won’t.  I won’t leave.”  Grantaire heard Enjolras murmur, as he fell into a deep sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

The morning sun streamed through the window.  Grantaire’s head was pounding, and his mouth felt like he had swallowed a gerbil.  He blinked trying to minimize the headache and groaned, because he was failing. 

“Water and aspirin are on the nightstand.” 

He pressed his eyes closed and fumbled for the glass, as he pushed himself up on the bed.  He felt a warm hand press the cup into his hand and a body lean over him.  Slowly, the light behind his closed eyes dimmed, as he realized the blinds were being shut.  Downing the aspirin, he peeked an eye open. 

Enjolras sat in a chair next to the bed. 

“Mornin’, ‘Pollo…” 

“Actually, it’s 1:30 in the afternoon.”  He raised an eyebrow. 

Grantaire swallowed the rest of the water down.  “Oh…why’re you here?” 

“Decided to stay, after I drove you home.” 

“You took me home?”  Grantaire asked, wide-eyed, and very happy Enjolras had the forethought to close the blinds. 

“Jehan wanted to spend some more time with Courferyac so…” 

With a snicker, he replied, “Good to know my roommie loves me…” 

Enjolras paused before responding quietly, “I may have encouraged him…” 

“T–to go with Courfeyrac?” 

“Mhmm.”  He nodded. 

The aspirin was beginning to kick in, and enough clarity was breaking through the post-alcohol induced haze to confuse him, “Wha–why?” 

With a shrug, the blond answered, “You asked me to stay, so…” 

“I didn’t think you’d listen.”  He countered. 

Enjolras frowned, “Why wouldn’t I?” 

“Apollo…please correct me if I’m wrong, but from here, it felt like you started to hate me as soon as you discovered that I’m an impossible cynic with no faith in the world or the human race.  Not that I’d blame you…” 

“I–I don’t hate you.  I never have.” 

“The looks you give me, the yelling, a lot of things would really say otherwise–” 

“That never meant I hated you!  I look angry because, I want you to see that the world can be fixed.  I yell, because I want you to stop drinking yourself useless!”  Enjolras shouted but froze, when Grantaire met his eyes. 

“So, am I just another cause to you?  Another thing to fix?”  He asked quietly. 

And that shut down any words Enjolras could even imagine.  He looked dumbfounded, like he truly didn’t even know. 

Grantaire smiled bitterly, “I see.”  He pushed himself out of his bed, “I’m brushing my teeth.” 

“Grantaire!  Grantaire, please!”  Enjolras called from the other side of the door. 

In the bathroom, Grantaire brushed the bitter taste of the night and day old alcohol out of his mouth.  He stared into the mirror.  His eyes were bloodshot from the night before, and he looked pale.  He splashed water across his face.  He needed to shave, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it at the moment, so he just waited until Enjolras’s words faded.  When he opened the door to come back out, he fully expected the blond activist to have disappeared. 

However, as soon as he stepped back into the bedroom, Enjolras was crowding him against the wall and pressing their lips together. 

Grantaire reacted so instinctively, that he was responding and returning the kiss, before he could think that he was supposedly angry at this man.  By the time he did realize it, it seemed a moot point. 

When they pulled apart, Enjolras didn’t let him go.  He lightly brushed one of Grantaire’s curls behind his ear. 

“Look,” Enjolras whispered, “I don’t know what this is…I wish I did, but I’m not sure.  Believe it or not, this is really new to me.  I’ve had relationships, but I don’t think I’ve ever been in love before, so I don’t even know what to expect…I can’t lie.  It’s possible that you are a new cause.  I can’t say that it isn’t true, because I haven’t loved a person for a very long time.  Not romantically, at least.  But, I will say, even if you are a cause,” he smiled slightly, “I always love my causes with all my heart.” 

Grantaire had no idea if he was ecstatic or devastated.  Slowly, he asked, “And, what if you can’t save me?”

Enjolras pecked him softly on the lips, “You should know, I don’t give up on things I believe in.” 

Grantaire tipped his head back, with a soft thunk against the wall, he huffed an unhappy laugh, “And, if you succeed?  You fix me?  Won’t you get bored then?” 

“No, because by then, you’ll join me at my side, fighting.” 

Grantaire looked at him again, opening his mouth, then closing it and shaking his head. 

Enjolras placed a soft hand on Grantaire’s unshaven cheek, “Grantaire, I told you, I don’t know what this is.  But, would you, please, stay with me, while I figure it out?” 

“Why are you bothering?” 

“Grantaire–” Enjolras tried to interrupt, but Grantaire kept going. 

“No, I mean it.  You have your huge social justice stuff to deal with.  I know that.  Why are you wasting your time with me, when you know you can find a dozen men, who are already aligned with your every thought?  Who can support you in every way you need, personally and politically, when I won’t get close for a very long time at least?” 

Enjolras stepped back, letting Grantaire off the wall.  With a sigh, the blond fell to sit on Grantaire’s bed.  Grantaire tried to keep his breath from catching at the thought of Enjolras on his bed in any way. 

“When I was eight,” Enjolras began, “I decided I wanted to be a superhero.” 

Grantaire’s eyebrows nearly hit the ceiling, but he said nothing. 

“I had read Captain America or whatever, and I just wanted to save the world, like him.  Of course, a few years down the road, I realized this was not a viable career option.  So, after that, I threw myself into academics and Model UN and poli sci everything.  I was going to be a president or senator and save the would that way.  It was very serious, and I didn’t do anything that kept me from that goal.  When I came to college here, I learned more and more about the corruption.  Not just in any one party, but in all of them, and even in the system itself.  I started going to protests, forming my own little group, and that’s how I figured to save the world.  That was working, slowly maybe, but it was a start.  But…everything became so serious.  Always, the cause was paramount in my mind, and my personal thoughts were pushed to the side.  Everything I’ve done in the past four years has been in effort to keep all of this going, so I could make a difference in the world.” 

Enjolras looked up from the floor to meet Grantaire’s eyes.  A smile quirked at the right side of Enjolras’s mouth. 

“I was happy, but I don’t remember laughing or crying or even getting angry at a person, unless they were some corrupt politician.  All my issues seemed trivial compared to the work.  But, then there was this ridiculous photographer, who was cute, and who made me laugh.  Then, it turned out he was the hardest person to convince of anything, and he made me angry, so I yelled.  And, he was sad, so I cried with him.” 

Grantaire had all but stopped breathing now, as a full smile crossed Apollo’s golden face. 

“I have several funny and impossible friends who make me smile, and who occasionally annoy me to death, but I don’t remember laughing, like I did with you that day we met, in a very long time.  I don’t remember getting so angry that I couldn’t hide it at all…and…that was okay.  It was okay to laugh and scream and cry, and you reminded me of that.  You reminded me that I’m not just human, I’m twenty-one, and I don’t need all the answers yet.  Please forgive me for trying to keep that.” 

With wide eyes, Grantaire stared at him.  Suddenly he lurched forward and fell to his knees in front of Enjolras.  He reached a hand to tangle through the blond curls, pulling him down for another long, deep kiss.  _His god needed him.  Eventually, Enjolras would see he was making a mistake, but for now, he was needed._  

When they pulled apart a little breathless, with Enjolras’s forehead still resting against his own, Grantaire asked, “So where do we go from here?” 

“A real first date.  We know each other’s faults, now.  We don’t ignore them, but we try to get on as best we can, and maybe they’ll get better…okay?” 

“Absolutely.” 

Grantaire closed the gap between their mouths again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone is still enjoying the story! Feedback is always welcome.


	8. Chapter 8

Once they had pulled away from each other, smiling, Enjolras took Grantaire’s hand in his.  “Food?” 

Grantaire nodded. 

In the living room, they froze, seeing Jehan and Courfeyrac wrapped around one another on the couch.  “‘Taire, you’re up!”  Jehan pulled away to better look at Grantaire, causing Courfeyrac to frown, before he saw his friends. 

“Jehan?” 

“Courf?”  Enjolras and Grantaire looked wide-eyed at their roommates. 

“Hey!”  Courfeyrac grinned, eyes glancing down to their joined hands. 

“Oh…” Jehan’s eyes grew very large, almost comical on his bright face. 

“I–no, we didn’t have–no–” Enjolras suddenly started stumbling over words. 

“Uh-huh.”  Courfeyrac grinned maniacally. 

“We didn’t.”  Grantaire assured, trying not to sound disappointed at Enjolras’s embarrassment.  “Enj, let’s go.”  After an interminable pause, he tugged at Enjolras’s hand and led him out the door. 

Once they started down the street in the direction of the metro station, Grantaire frowned.  _Maybe, he shouldn’t be seen with me._ Eventually, he pulled his hand from Enjolras’s. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing.” 

“Grantaire, please.” 

“You seemed upset when Jehan thought we slept together…” 

“Well, we didn’t sleep together.”  Enjolras sounded confused. 

“I know, but you sounded mortally offended by the thought.” 

“No!  Is that what you think?  No, god.”  He pulled Grantaire to face him, “I just thought Jehan would have killed me for taking advantage of you last night, and I wanted to make sure he knew I didn’t, and–” 

A smile broke across Grantaire’s face, “I don’t think, he’d kill you.  Jehan knows I’ve been pining.” 

Enjolras grinned back, “I don’t know.  As sweet as he is, I feel like he could be terrifying, if he wanted.”

“Oh, he can be.”  Grantaire laughed, “But, I don’t think this would quite set him off.  Especially, since you and Courfeyrac are close.  He might try not to put off his new boyfriend.” 

Enjolras scoffed, as they stepped onto the metro escalator, “As if he could.  Courfeyrac’s been head over heels for Jehan the moment he laid eyes on him.  I swear, if he could sing, there would be an album about him out by now.” 

Grantaire snickered, “You should see Jehan’s latest poetry collection…” 

Their joined laughter was drowned out by the train that rolled in.  They boarded quickly, headed towards downtown for a very late lunch.

* * *

Grantaire drank less.  He didn’t stop.  He never did, but when Enjolras would message him, telling him to meet him on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial at six in the morning, the lack of a hangover really helped. 

Somehow, Mr. Change-the-World made him think waking at ungodly hours to watch the sunrise was a good idea.  He was groggy and the tea Enjolras had brought him really didn’t give him the necessary caffeine kick, but on the marble steps, with pink and red and gold lights peeking over the trees, glinting off white columns, and illuminating Enjolras’s face, Grantaire really found very little about which to complain. 

“Do you have an iPhone?”  Grantaire asked suddenly. 

“I–yes?”  Enjolras snapped his attention to Grantaire, from where his gaze had been fixed, across the National Mall, where the sun’s glow stretched across the city. 

“Can I borrow it?” 

“Why?”  He handed the phone over, while asking. 

“My camera’s at home.”  His eyes were intent as he flipped through phone apps. 

“‘Taire, what are you–?” 

Grantaire snapped a photo with the phone. 

“Grantaire!” 

“Shh, just look out at the Mall.” 

“Oh come on, I can’t, when I know you’re going to take my pict–” 

“Just do it.” 

Enjolras rolled his eyes and looked forward.  “‘Taire, this is insane.” 

“Hasn’t stopped me before.” 

“I know, but…” He apparently couldn’t think of anything to follow his statement, because he trailed off and continues looking at the marble monuments. 

After a moment, and several photos later, Grantaire followed his gaze outward.  “Would you want to work there?” 

“Where?” 

“The Capitol, White House, what have you?” 

“I don’t know.”  Enjolras leaned back on the steps, and Grantaire took another photo.  “Politicians are so…selfish sometimes, but it could be the most effective way to induce change–” 

“If you actually induce change, you’ll find yourself out of office pretty quickly.”  Grantaire said with a smirk. 

Enjolras looked pointedly at him. 

“I’m just saying…” He mumbled, starting to look through the photos. 

After a long silence, Grantaire looked up, afraid he had said too much, when Enjolras held out his hand, “Well, let me see, then.” 

“Huh?” 

“You insisted on taking pictures.  Let me see them.” 

He handed the phone back.  As his… _boyfriend?_ began going through the photos, he felt inexplicably nervous.  He was a good photographer, when he was sober, which he was.  He knew that.  He just really wanted Enjolras to like them.  When a small smile flashed across Enjolras’s face, he relaxed slightly. 

“I’ll never understand why you insist on taking pictures of me…but they’re good.” 

“I like taking pictures of you.” 

“I can see that.  I still don’t get it.”  He shrugged, now flipping through other things on his phone. 

Grantaire hesitated, before trying, “I guess, think of yourself as my muse?”  He dropped a soft kiss to Enjolras’s shoulder. 

Enjolras laughed, but turning his head, he captured Grantaire’s lips, cold in the brisk morning air. 

“Why do you sign your texts ‘R’?” 

Grantaire remained silent. 

“Oh my god, are you blushing?”  Enjolras laughed, and for a moment, Grantaire could think of nothing more perfect than that face in the glow of the morning on marble steps. 

“Ahh…” 

“Come on, tell me!”  Enjolras moved closer to him. 

“Um…it’s a bit of a pun.  I mean, my name is French, so the letter ‘R’ in French is pronounced ‘aire,’ right?  So a capital ‘R’ is a big ‘aire’…so, ‘grand aire’ sounds like ‘Grantaire’…it’s a stupid joke…” Grantaire fixed his gaze firmly on Enjolras’s very interesting cuticles, so he wouldn’t have to look at his face. 

“You speak French?” 

That was not the reaction he’d been expecting.  He looked up quickly, “Well…a little.  I studied it in high school…” 

Enjolras was grinning.  “I love France.  I studied abroad in Paris.” 

“Oh…” 

Enjolras leaned forward to kiss him soundly. 

In a terrible accent, Grantaire sheepishly asked “Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?” 

Laughing hysterically now, Enjolras buried his face in his hands.  When he had calmed down, he answered in flawless French, “Pas ce soir, mais…dans le futur…c’est possible.”  He reached over to take Grantaire’s hand in his. 

Grantaire lifted their joined hands to press a kiss on Enjolras’s knuckles.  He opened his mouth to say something, but then realized he had no words, so he simply leaned over, and Enjolras slipped his free arm around Grantaire’s waist. 


	9. Chapter 9

After about two weeks, Enjolras and Grantaire had slept together many times.  Not sex.  Just falling asleep together on Grantaire’s couch.   

Their relationship had done nothing to stop their fighting.  They had tried to stop, but soon realized that the bickering and other arguments were essential to their dynamic, so now, they tried to keep very barbed comments down, but they still fought when they disagreed, which was on many things. 

They were also both very stubborn, so their arguments could last late into the night, until they fell asleep together, and later woke up, wrapped in each other’s arms, half falling off the couch cushions. 

One night they woke up to the sound of muffled moans and rhythmic pounding on the wall, from the next room. 

After a long, awkward pause, Enjolras asked, in a voice about three octaves higher than normal, “Is that Jehan?” 

“I–uh–I…I would assume.  That’s his room.”   

“Is Courf–” 

“I would say so.”  He pressed the heels of his hands over his eyes.  “Oh, wow…” 

When a drawn out cry of “Courfeyrac…” echoed through the small apartment, Enjolras jumped up.  “We should go…somewhere.  Else.” 

“Oh god, yes.” 

Grabbing coats as quickly as possible, the sprinted out of the room, to leave the happy couple to their bliss uninterrupted.

* * *

On the street, walking along the Potomac, the blond was still spluttering.  “I can’t–what were they even–how–?” 

“Probably against the wall.”  Grantaire answered, laughing. 

Enjolras blanched.  “I will never be able to look at either of them again.” 

Grantaire kept laughing. 

“How are you so casual about this?” 

“Our dear, little poet has never been quiet.  I’m used to it.”  The cynic smirked.  “Don’t tell me you never heard Courfeyrac before.” 

“I’m usually occupied…” 

Grantaire raised an eyebrow, “With?” 

“Classes, internship, job.  This is the first semester where most of my free time hasn’t been spent in a library.” 

“What’s different, now?”  Grantaire asked, sitting on a step by the dock. 

“You know, senior year, I’ve gotten a lot of requirements out of the way, so my schedule’s a bit lighter.”  He shrugged, joining Grantaire. 

With a grin Grantaire leaned over, pressing a kiss to Enjolras’s neck, “Anything else?” 

Enjolras laughed, rolled his eyes, and turned to face him, “Oh, yes.  There’s also this insufferable cynic, who keeps me up arguing, so I then fall asleep, to wake up at the least opportune moments.”  He leaned forward to kiss Grantaire, who returned the kiss happily. 

“Stand up.”  Grantaire commanded, once they separated. 

“What in the world–”

Grantaire moved Enjolras, took him by the shoulders and pushed him back, so he was standing under one of the streetlights, which glinted off the water and illuminated the wooden walkway.  He grinned and pulled his camera from his bag. 

“Oh, jeez, ‘Aire, not again!” 

“Get used to it, dear.”  He smirked and gently tilted Enjolras’s head, so the shadows fell across his face just right.  “I may have wanted to take this photo, since I met you.”  He said, stepping back and taking a few shots to check the light. 

Enjolras shook his head quickly, before standing still to let Grantaire take his picture. 

They continued down the river, Grantaire taking Enjolras’s photo every few minutes. 

When the first rays of light began to peek over the horizon, they headed home, deciding it was safe from Jehan and Courfeyrac’s coupling. 

At Grantaire’s door, Enjolras said, “If our estimates were wrong about…” he waved generally at the door, “Call me.” 

“I will.”  He answered emphatically. 

Enjolras started down the stairs, “Grantaire…” 

“Hmm?”  He looked up from opening his door. 

“You haven’t been at meetings for a while.” 

“That’s right.”  He frowned.  _You know I shouldn’t be there.  We fight enough._  

“I’d like it if you came tonight.”  He requested softly. 

“I–” He paused, _As if I could say “no” to you, love._ “If you wish, I’ll be there.”  He plastered on a smile, which he hoped wasn’t obviously fake. 

“I do.”  Enjolras’s white grin was blinding.  “See you, then!”  He swept down the steps. 

“See you…” he called half-heartedly, dreading what Enjolras could need of him at his attempted revolutionary meeting.

* * *

When Grantaire arrived at the café, he grimaced at the flurry of activity.  Upon first glance, Enjolras, Courfeyrac, and Combeferre sat together, talking, while Jehan helped Joly, Bossuet, and Feuilly put finishing touches on what looked like protest signs. 

Enjolras jumped up, when Grantaire came through the door, rushing over to give him a quick kiss.  “You’re here!” 

“I said, I would be.” 

“I know, I’m just happy about it.” 

The cynic couldn’t help but let a small smile cross his lips. 

Enjolras bounced back to Courfeyrac and Combeferre, correcting something Courf had said, “No, no, no, we can’t count on Brujon at all.” 

“What if Eponine talks to him?”  Courfeyrac asked. 

“No, E’s right; we’re better off without them.”  Combeferre replied quietly. 

Grantaire walked over to Jehan, who was drawing hearts and flowers on a sign that read, “Love is love.” 

“Hello, sweetheart!”  Jehan popped out of his seat and wrapped Grantaire in a tight hug. 

“Hey, you.” 

“Watch it there, I might get jealous.”  Courfeyrac joked. 

“Stop it!”  Jehan said, fondly tapping Courfeyrac on the top of the head. 

“I kid, I kid.”  Courfeyrac greeted Grantaire with a firm handshake and leaned down to kiss Jehan soundly.  Grantaire looked to Enjolras, who was blushing slightly, and laughed. 

For several minutes, Grantaire sat in the corner, watching the little whirlwind.  At one point, Eponine burst through the door with pizza, “Dinner, boys!” 

Most everyone grabbed at the food.  Joly took a moment to mumble something that included the word “E. Coli,” looking to heaven, as Bossuet shook his head, grinning, and handed the medic a slice.  Enjolras stayed in his seat, looking over a list and crossing things off as he went. 

“You should eat something, dearest.”  Grantaire slipped behind him. 

Still focused on the paper, Enjolras shook his head, “I’m fine.” 

“Mhmm, when did you last eat?”  Grantaire asked, skeptically. 

“Uhh…before class?” 

“And, what time was class today?” 

“Nine-thirty.” 

“Oh god.  Enj, you need to eat!”  He protested, pulling Enjolras’s chair back. 

After a cry of dismay, he pulled the chair back and said, “Really, I’m okay.  I need to do this.” 

With an eyeroll, Grantaire questioned, “And, what could be so important that it cannot wait, while you eat a slice of pizza and to avoid starvation?” 

“The Tea Party is due tomorrow to fight D.C.’s new marriage laws.  We’re arranging a counter-protest.”  He adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose. 

Grantaire frowned and pushed a hand through messy, black curls.  “Tea Party?” 

“Uh-huh.”  He circled an illegible scrawl.  “Joly, did you contact the school paper?” 

“Of course!”  Joly answered, as he disinfected the post-pizza table. 

“Good.” 

“Do you really want to get involved in this?”  Grantaire placed a hand on the chief’s shoulder. 

“Absolutely.  I’ve already arranged with heads from Georgetown and American for support.”  He was now shuffling through maps and bus schedules. 

“Enjolras, these people are a fringe group.  You’re better off ignoring them.” 

Spinning in his chair, Enjolras looked at him, “People say that, but the only approval they need is our silence.  Without some show that what they’re doing is wrong, they will grow.” 

“They won’t last.  They can’t keep up steam, the way they’re going.” 

“That’s just the easy way out.”  He turned back to the table. 

Clenching his fists, he snapped, “Enj, this is dangerous.” 

“I thought you said, that they’ll lose steam.”  He countered. 

“Naturally, yes,” Grantaire felt his voice rising, “But, if you engage with them, who knows what will happen!” 

“We’re organizing a peaceful protest, ‘Taire.  It’ll be fine.” 

“You might be, but these are people who like the NRA!  They aren’t going to be peaceful!  When a bunch of upstart students gets in their way!” 

“That hardly matters.” 

“Hardly ma–?  Excuse me, how naïve can you be?” 

“Oh god, Grantaire, it’s not like they could bring weapons to D.C.  There are restrictions!” 

“It still shows a predisposition for violence, dammit!”

“And, what, then?  We should sit by and do nothing?”  Enjolras stood and faced the cynic, and suddenly Grantaire noticed the flashing behind Enjolras’s blue eyes, flaring, even while his voice remained forcibly calm. 

“As I said, just let it blow over.” 

“That’s cowardly.”  He whispered harshly. 

Through gritted teeth, Grantaire snapped, “It’s like you’re trying to get yourself killed.” 

“Stop being so overdramatic!  We’re not going to die!” 

“Well, I’m sorry I care if my boyfriend sustains any major injuries!”  He snapped sarcastically. 

“And, I’m so sorry that expected _my_ boyfriend to care about my beliefs!” 

“Don’t you dare.  You know that I do!” 

“You can’t possibly!”  He hissed, before nearly screaming in frustration, “You don’t care about anything!  You don’t believe in anything!” 

“I believe in you, you idiot!”  Grantaire screamed back. 

Enjolras mouth shut suddenly, and his eyes went wide, but Grantaire continued barreled on, only vaguely aware of the fact, “Why the hell do you think I’m even here?  Because you asked me!  Why have I always come here?  Because of you!  Do you think I like living the way I do?  Do you think I want to be right about how fucked up the world is?  Because, I really, really don’t!  I can’t think of anything worse than finding out that people are just as screwed up, as I’ve always thought!  I want to believe that people can change and be good and learn, but I don’t.  I can’t!  And, the only time I almost think that I’m wrong, the only time I get close, is when you talk about your greater tomorrow.  That is it!  That is the only time it ever happens.  So, I’m sorry.  I’m sorry, that I worry!  Sorry that I want you to think twice before you run headfirst into the fire!  But, for god’s sake, you are the only good thing I have!  And the fastest, absolutely the best and most efficient way of proving that I’m right, is to take that away from me.  And, I don’t think that I could deal with that!” 

After his tirade, Grantaire froze, realizing the entire café was staring at him. 

Enjolras met his eyes, his face now slack in shock. 

Grantaire groaned, and ran his hands over his face.  “Fuck this.”  He turned on his heel and walked out of the café.  _Now, I’ve really said, too much…_


	10. Chapter 10

Back home, Grantaire slammed the door behind him.  He collapsed against the door and slowly slid down, until he sat on the floor, clenching and unclenching his hands, and really trying to not hyperventilate. 

_And in a space of ten minutes, you have very effectively proven that you are a hopeless case.  You will never believe in anything he has deemed important, and you believe in only him?  How creepy can you get?_  

With a sudden burst of energy, he pushed himself off the floor and propelled himself to the kitchen.  He took the bottle of vodka from the freezer and poured a shot.  He downed it and was about to pour himself a second, when there was a pounding at the door.  He groaned, when the pounding grew more insistent, he screamed, “Just go away!” 

“Grantaire, please, open the door.”  Enjolras’s muffled voice froze him. 

_Nononononono.  I can’t deal with a breakup sober, I just can’t._  

He wondered if he could chug the vodka before opening the door, but as the knocking continued, he decided, it would take too long for it to hit him anyway.  Therefore, he put the bottle away and walked to the door, like a man to his execution. 

_Stop being histrionic,_ he thought, _You’ve lived without him, and you will continue to do so…_  

He had meant to smirk and snap, “What does my Apollo wish?” as soon as he answered Enjolras, but once he did, the words died.  He stared into blue eyes, silently, and tried to quell the nausea that threatened to overwhelm him.  He wanted to cry, but felt like maintaining some sense of dignity was important, so he pushed it down. 

Completely serious, Enjolras murmured carefully, “You believe in _me_?” maintaining eye contact with the man who seriously wished to be drunk. 

Grantaire eyebrow twitched in confusion, breaking through the constructed mask of calm.  _Had he not made that clear?_   “Yes.”  He breathed. 

In a flash, Enjolras’s lips were against his, and that was definitely not the knell of doom he had been expecting.  Grantaire fumbled to recover, as Enjolras pushed him back, still kissing, into the apartment.  The blonde wrapped his arms around him tightly, and Grantaire finally regained some semblance of sense, and returned the kiss, working his hand into Enjolras’s curls. 

Walking backwards, they nearly fell over the arm of the sofa, and Grantaire quickly removed his hands from Enjolras to brace themselves and keep them from toppling over.  Giggling, Enjolras pressed quick kisses all down Grantaire’s throat and back to his ear. 

“This–this was not what I was expecting…” Grantaire gasped. 

Enjolras moved back to look into Grantaire’s eyes.  He smiled widely, “You doubt everything and say there is no cause that can rouse you, and yet you have decided to believe in me and say you come to meetings you hate for me?  What part of that makes you think I would want anything other than to kiss you senseless?” 

“I–I didn’t think you’d take it like that…” Grantaire blushed, inhaling sharply, when Enjolras grazed his teeth against Grantaire’s jaw. 

“Oh?”  Enjolras moved back to Grantaire’s lips. 

Forgetting that his arms were the only things supporting them, Grantaire wrapped his arms around Enjolras’s neck, sending them crashing onto the couch. 

Enjolras grinned and laughed, propping himself on his elbows over Grantaire.  His face fell slightly, when he caught Grantaire’s frown.  “What is it?” 

“We were fighting.” 

“Yes…”  The blond raised an eyebrow. 

“It seems like…this is a sudden change.”  He tried to articulate further, but found it very difficult with Enjolras on top of him. 

“Not so sudden, it took fifteen minutes before I even got here.”  He said, smirking. 

“Still.” 

Enjolras leaned down to lightly kiss Grantaire’s forehead.  “You said something, which I never thought you would say.  Something that moved me very deeply, which made it nearly impossible to stay mad at you.”  He sat up, “If you are still angry with me, I’ll stop, of course.  I’m so sorry, really.”  He looked very concerned. 

Grantaire sat up as well.  “I’m not–not really angry really…”  _I just worry, because I love you, and am getting frighteningly close to needing you in my life always, and you have this terrible habit of doing really stupid shit in the name of justice, and please, please, don’t leave, when I’ve just found you._ “I just thought you’d really have been creeped-out by that outburst earlier…” 

Enjolras face just lit up again, and he reached a hand to run through Grantaire’s black curls, “Not creeped-out in the slightest, ‘Aire.”  Then Enjolras moved forward again, so he could lean in, rest his forehead against Grantaire’s, lips just an inch away, his hand now at the side of the cynic’s face, “I mean it.  I can’t explain how happy you made me tonight.” 

And Grantaire really felt like it was unfair to make him think, with Enjolras so very close, breath soft and warm across his face, and hands gentle and warm on his jaw, and blazing blue eyes, which could freeze, but now were just bright and _warm_ and so fucking inviting, and suddenly, Grantaire was pressing as much of himself against Enjolras as possible, kissing him fiercely, almost desperately. 

Enjolras drew Grantaire forward to straddle his lap.  Hands wandered, as Enjolras’s tongue deftly stroked Grantaire’s, plunging deep into his mouth.  Grantaire nearly moaned, when Enjolras pulled back to ask, “Bed?” 

“God, please.”  He whimpered back.

* * *

Grantaire woke up with Enjolras’s bare chest against his back, arms wound around him tightly and their fingers laced together.  He glanced at the clock.  It wasn’t even three in the morning.  Grantaire sighed. 

Enjolras had taken him so gently that night.  With all on Enjolras’s anger and fire, he hadn’t really expected that.  Now, with Enjolras wrapped around him so easily, Grantaire felt his heart begin to ache.  It was sweet and comfortable, and Enjolras just fit so well around Grantaire’s body, and his work, and his life, and it wasn’t like he had been denying it before, but he was in love with Enjolras, and each time the thought struck him, it was like a thunderbolt, which simultaneously made him want to scream, laugh, and cry. 

As laughing and screaming seemed like they would wake the man sleeping next to him, Grantaire did neither of those things, and suddenly fat tears began to pour down his face.  He released his grip on Enjolras’s hands to cover his mouth, as he shook silently. 

Grantaire realized that his attempt not to disturb his Apollo failed, when he heard a soft, “‘Aire?” behind him. 

The activist pressed kisses along Grantaire’s neck and shoulder and whispering “‘Aire, what’s wrong?  What is it?” 

“Nothing.  Nothing.”  He chuckled dryly, wiping his face with the back of his hand. 

Gently, Enjolras turned Grantaire to face him.  With concern shining in his eyes, he murmured, “Tell me, please.” 

He forced a smile to his face, “You have a revolution to lead tomorrow.  You should sleep.” 

Apollo’s face fell, “The protest?  Is that why…‘Taire, I’m going to the protest…” 

Grantaire stayed silent. 

“Grantaire, I need to be there.”  He pleaded. 

“Grant–” 

Grantaire reached a hand up and placed it over Enjolras’s mouth.  “You will go to the protest.”  It wasn’t a question.  It wasn’t even regretful, only a quiet statement of fact. 

“Yes.”  He whispered equally quiet. 

“And, I will be there with you.”  Grantaire was no longer looking in Enjolras’s eyes. 

“You will?”  Enjolras nearly gasped.  It was sweet, almost childlike. 

“Yes.” 

Enjolras tipped Grantaire’s chin up, so he could see his face, and not just the mess of jet-black curls.  Searching, he implored, “Why?” 

With a half-hearted smirk, Grantaire answered, “Because I love you, jackass.” 

Enjolras beamed at him, bright like the sun.  He surged forward and captured his mouth in a kiss. 

Kissing him so eagerly, Grantaire could almost imagine he had said it back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay sex! I don't really write smut, so this chapter is as about as descriptive as it will be in the remaining story.
> 
> Also, next chapter, you will see the protest. It will be violent. I tried not to make it overly gory/explicit, but if you are very sensitive, it may be something to think about. Just skip that chapter and continue on, knowing the protest happened.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as I mentioned in the last chapter. There is some violence with the protest. Honestly, I'm pretty squeamish, and I wrote it, and I was fine. However, I once had complaints for gore, which I didn't realize would even possibly be a trigger, so I want to make sure. Hope you all enjoy the chapter!

Grantaire never thought Enjolras would be domestic after their first night together, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t a little bit sad, when he was right. 

It would have been lovely to share a late breakfast, preferably after showering together, when they woke up, but Grantaire didn’t expect it from Enjolras, and with a world to change, he was right in his expectation. 

Enjolras jumped up, around the crack of dawn, and shook Grantaire until he woke as well.  After which Enjolras bustled around Grantaire’s apartment, pulling on his clothes, while simultaneously making calls to Combeferre, Courfeyrac, and Joly, assuring all final details were in order. 

“‘Taire, I need to run home and change.  I’ll meet you at the protest.”  He flew out of the apartment without another word. 

With pursed lips, Grantaire took a deep breath, before brushing his teeth, pulling on clean clothes and leaving as well. 

On the Mall, Grantaire followed signs with angry, hateful words until he found the comparatively small group of his friends and their supporters.  He caught glimpses of Joly, Bossuet, Eponine, and Bahorel, before he slotted himself next to Jehan and Courfeyrac. 

Jehan, with his eyes full of fire and flowers braided into his long hair, only nodded at Grantaire before returning his gaze to a screaming person holding a sign, which condemned him and others like him to the depths of everlasting torment and damnation.  He reached out and clutched Courfeyrac’s hand tightly.   

Courfeyrac smiled at Grantaire.  “Good night, I take it?”  He winked. 

“Yes, it was.”  He smiled only half-heartedly. 

Courfeyrac was about to ask what was wrong, but that was when Enjolras started to speak. 

Grantaire could just see him in a gap between people.  The leader stood at the front of their collection, facing the angry rabble.  With his eyes ablaze and his cheeks flushed from outrage and the cold, he was an avenging angel sent to earth.  He spoke words of thunder and lightning and rain…the actual words, Grantaire really didn’t catch, and they didn’t matter.  Enjolras was always a big presence.  The way he looked, it was impossible for him to be just a man, but here, with his entire being engaged, he grew to be ten feet tall.  He owned the earth and sky, and nothing would ever be so captivating as that man leading a crowd. 

He watched as Enjolras whipped his own followers into a frenzy, until everyone was shouting.  Even Grantaire found himself repeating words that had fallen from the chief’s lips.  The Tea Partyers answered in kind, their own fire and brimstone in reaction to Enjolras’s, powerful and angry, but nowhere near as beautiful. 

It was fine.  It would have been fine, if Enjolras hadn’t stepped forward and placed his hands on the railing, which separated the two groups.  Grantaire hadn’t noticed it before.  Before, it had seemed like a perfectly adequate barricade between the man he loved, and the people who wanted to destroy him.  Now, it was just a flimsy, metal rail, which really wouldn’t stop anyone, and Grantaire felt his heart stop, because Enjolras was leaning in, face-to-face, with a big man, who probably drove some kind of monster truck, saying something, with serious eyes, and the monster truck man looked severely displeased about whatever the angel was saying. 

There was a shout and a gasp, as the big man swung at Enjolras.  He missed, and Bahorel surged forward, and landed a punch on the man’s jaw.  Suddenly, Grantaire could see no more of the blond, as the crowd had swirled and swept around him.  He chased, trying his hardest to catch sight of blond hair or the red jacket, but failed, when he felt a hand on his arm. 

“They’ve crossed the barrier, we should go.”  Jehan shouted, over the yelling crowd. 

“I need to find Enjolras.”  Grantaire insisted. 

“Grantaire, we need–” 

But, Grantaire had no idea what was needed, because suddenly Jehan fell limp into his arms.  He looked up to see some man standing over them, with what looked like a lead pipe. 

Grantaire swore under his breath and pulled his unconscious roommate away from a second swing.  He prepared himself to receive his own blow, but it didn’t come.  He heard a screech, and saw Courfeyrac full of more rage than he ever knew possible, pummeling the man into the ground. 

After a few moments, the man seemed bloody enough for Courfeyrac’s liking.  He looked at Grantaire, and between the two of them, the pulled the poet out of the crowd. 

Grantaire hailed a cab, and once inside, Courfeyrac started mumbling, “Jehan, love, wake up, please, love, please…” 

Grantaire watched, as Courfeyrac breathed a sigh of relief, when the little poet groaned and swore. 

“Oh, god, Jehan…” Courfeyrac sobbed, pulling Jehan into an embrace. 

“I’m fine…I have a headache like you wouldn’t believe, though…”  Jehan whispered. 

“We’re taking you to the hospital–” 

“No, just take me home.”  Jehan shook his head slightly, grimacing and touching his head. 

“‘Han, please?”  Courfeyrac begged, trying not to cringe, when blood came away on Jehan’s fingers. 

“No.  I’m okay.” 

Courfeyrac looked carefully into Jehan’s eyes, trying to remember what his pre-med friend had said about concussions.  “Okay, but Joly’s checking you out, I swear.”  Grantaire guessed that, by this point, Courfeyrac knew arguing with Jehan, when he’s set on things, was a moot point. 

“Fine.  I just hate hospitals.” 

Courfeyrac frowned, but pulled his love against him, ignoring the blood on his shirt, as Grantaire rerouted the cabbie.

* * *

At Grantaire, Jehan, and Eponine’s apartment, Courfeyrac pulled out the first aid kit and began tending to Jehan.  Grantaire texted everyone in the group, telling them, where they were. 

Slowly, Eponine, Joly, Bossuet, Combeferre, Marius, Feuilly, and Bahorel all filtered in.  All looking a bit worse for wear, but with no injuries that were too horrible. 

Jehan looked like he had received the worst of it, a large, black bruise blooming across his eye and cheek, and gash of blood staining his strawberry blonde hair.  Courfeyrac looked as Joly checked him, before returning to clean the wounds with his own shaking hands, when Joly deemed him alright. 

Grantaire sat to the side, staring at the door and his phone in turn.  Enjolras wasn’t there, and Grantaire was really doing his best not to panic. 

As each person had entered, he accosted them, “Have you seen Enjolras?  Where is he?  Has anyone heard _anything_?” And, each person had shaken their heads, put a hand on his shoulder, and tried to assure him that their leader was alright. 

After checking on each person, Joly turned to Bossuet and said, “We should get home.  Musichetta will be worried.” 

Bossuet nodded, and the two began to get their coats, and Grantaire felt all his energy build up, so he screamed, “Are you all insane?” 

Everyone in the room turned to him surprised.  “Where is he?”  He continued, “Do none of you care?  Why am I the only one freaking out here?” 

Combeferre stepped forward and reached for him, but Grantaire shrugged away.  “Grantaire, he’s fine.  This is how it goes.  No matter what happens, Enjolras will always be the last one back.  He settles things, cleans up, and he’ll be here.  More often than not, completely uninjured.  Don’t worry.” 

“‘More often than–?’  It’s been hours!  He should call or text or–” 

“For god’s sake, Grantaire, just shut up!” 

Grantaire rounded to face Courfeyrac, who had stood up and was still holding the towel, bloody from Jehan’s head. 

Jehan warned, “Courfeyrac, please–” 

“You think you’re the only one who’s upset here?  You’re not!”  Courfeyrac was shaking. 

“Excuse me?”  Grantaire gaped.  Most of the people in the room seemed equally shocked by Courfeyrac’s outburst. 

“We are all freaked out!  About Enjolras, about each other!  For fuck’s sake, Jehan is _still_ _bleeding_ , and Enjolras is _fine_!  We’ve done this before, and he can take care of himself, and your panic attacks aren’t helping any–” 

“COURFEYRAC!”  Jehan stood up, and pulled Courfeyrac back to him.  “Stop yelling at my roommate, who is both of our friend.”

“But, he–”

“Is worried, yes.”  Jehan insisted, calmly, forcing Courfeyrac to look at him.  “And, you are worried, but we’re fine.  We are together and whole–” 

“Whole?  You have a head wound!” 

“Which Joly has insisted will be fine.” 

Courfeyrac collapsed onto the sofa, and Jehan sat next to him, taking his hands.  “I know this is the first time you’ve seen me hurt, but I am not so fragile as I look.  I’ve been through and survived worse, love.” 

“That really doesn’t make me feel better.”  He reached to take Jehan’s hand. 

“I know, but we are together, and you will take care of me.  Grantaire is just worried, because Enjolras isn’t here for him to care for.  I would be screaming, too, if I didn’t know where you were.”  Jehan pulled Courfeyrac into an embrace.  Once they separated, Jehan smiled, and placed Courfeyrac’s hand back on his forehead, “Now, finish cleaning me up.” 

Grantaire groaned and walked into his room, slamming the door behind him.  _Courfeyrac had Jehan, and Jehan had Courfeyrac.  Courfeyrac could explode, and Jehan would pull him back, and when anger or hurt lit up behind Jehan’s eyes, Courfeyrac would be there to hold the poet’s graceful hand.  They would both fight, but they would be there, together.  And, where would he be?  Grantaire?  Where, if Enjolras went somewhere he did not allow Grantaire to follow?_ Grantaire tried to hold the tears back, but they fell, as he collapsed onto his bed.

* * *

About an hour later, Grantaire woke, to the sounds of people coming into the apartment.  He leapt out of the bed, and ran to the living room. 

Combeferre entered, with Enjolras following him. 

The cynic started crying again _goddammit_ , when he locked eyes with the blond.  While Enjolras may stay uninjured “more often than not,” this was not one of those times.  He was scraped and scuffed all across his face. 

“Grantaire, I’m fine.”  He asserted. 

Grantaire crossed the room quickly, wrapping his arms tightly around the blond, who winced. 

“Fine?”  Grantaire snapped. 

“Just some bruises.  Nothing is broken.”  He took Grantaire’s hand in his, eyes beseeching.  “Trust me, I know when my ribs are broken.” 

“You know, how?”  Grantaire half-whimpered. 

Enjolras kissed his cheek.  “I’m fine.” 

With a tired sigh, Grantaire led him to the kitchen, where the first aid kit had been returned.  “Let’s clean you up, anyhow.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you were all alright with the last chapter. If you did not read it, Les Amis held a counter protest against the Tea Party. Jehan was hurt, and Enjolras got a bit scraped up. Courfeyrac and Grantaire worried. That's all the catch-up you need!
> 
> Also, alcoholism happens in this chapter.

Enjolras fell asleep, while wrapped around Grantaire, as he had the night before.  Grantaire however, did not.  He was afraid of falling asleep and nudging Enjolras’s bruises, _which were_ _absolutely not fine, skin should not be that shade of blue, green, and purple for heaven’s sake_ , in the wrong way.  He was afraid to fall asleep and wake to find that this day had been a dream, and this protest wasn’t over at all.  And, he was afraid to fall asleep and discover that the day had been real, but Enjolras was actually not in his bed, and really lying on the grass of the National Mall, bleeding, broken, and dead. 

Carefully, he extracted himself from Enjolras’s arms and padded his way to the kitchen.  He pulled out the whiskey and his shot glass.  He stared at the glass, before putting it back and swigging straight from the bottle, reveling in the burn down his throat and heat blossoming in his chest.  Sharply, he inhaled, trying to quell the fears, tipping the bottle back again and again.  His vision was just beginning to blur, when he heard footsteps. 

“Grantaire, what are you doing?” 

Grantaire heard a high-pitched laugh that seemed to come from his own mouth.  “‘Pollo, you should be in bed.” 

“So should you.”  Enjolras’s voice was very soft. 

“Nah, ‘m fine, love.”  Grantaire turned quickly, which sent the room into a bit of a spin, causing him to stumble. 

Enjolras stepped closer and held Grantaire’s arm, “‘Aire, please, come back to bed.” 

Grantaire pulled away and swerved from the kitchen to the living room, bottle in hand, drinking deeply as he went.

“Grantaire, please!”  Enjolras begged.  When Grantaire said nothing, Enjolras asked, “How much have you had?”  Still nothing, “How much?”  He insisted. 

Grantaire looked at the bottle.  “It was more full than it is now…” 

Enjolras groaned and reached for the bottle, but Grantaire pulled it away with remarkable dexterity. 

“Oh my god, Grantaire!”  He cried in frustration. 

“No, no, you are the god, dearest.”  Grantaire reiterated, pointedly. 

“I’m not–” 

“You pay no heed to your mortality, therefore, you must not be mortal.”  He grinned. 

Enjolras lunged for the bottle, which Grantaire still managed to keep away, taking another drink. 

“Grantaire!”  Enjolras sobbed, “It hurts me when you do this to yourself.” 

Sitting on the arm of the couch, Grantaire sniggered bitterly, “And, it hurts me, when you run off and nearly get yourself killed.” 

“For god’s sake, I didn’t nearly get killed!” 

“And, in the past?  How many broken bones are you hiding from, sweetheart?”  Grantaire hardly recognized his voice, as he snarled at Enjolras. 

“I’m not–Grantaire, that isn’t even comparable!” 

“Isn’t it?  You’re going to get yourself killed.” 

“If I do, it’s for a higher cause!” 

“That doesn’t mean it will hurt me any less!” 

Enjolras took a hold of Grantaire’s arms, forcing him to hold his gaze.  “Grantaire, do not ask me to be anything other than what I am!”  He shouted. 

Grantaire smirked and whispered, “Then, do not ask it of me.” 

Enjolras released him, as if he had been burned, and Grantaire took another swallow of the whiskey, though slowly, it was beginning to lose its appeal for the night.  “This,” Enjolras insisted, “This is not you.” 

“Ah, but it is.” 

“No!” 

“Face it.”  He nearly laughed. 

“It cannot be you!” 

“Why?”  Grantaire sneered, “Because it would ruin your vision of a perfectible humanity?”  He sauntered to Enjolras, standing hardly a foot away, “Or because you cannot stand lo–” _Not loving, he never said he loved you,_ “ _fucking_ a hopeless waste of life.” 

Enjolras stood frozen, staring in wide-eyed shock at Grantaire.  Several emotions flitted across the man’s face, and Grantaire momentarily wondered if Enjolras was going to strike him.  After a moment, Enjolras, quick as lightning, crushed Grantaire to his chest, holding him tightly.  Grantaire almost felt like he couldn’t breathe, but he wasn’t sure why. 

“Is that–” Enjolras’s words came in gasps, “How could you–why would you _ever_ think that?” 

Grantaire couldn’t find words, so he just stayed silent in Enjolras’s arms, as his love shook quietly, grasping at him like a lifeline.  Eventually, Grantaire wrapped his arms around Enjolras’s waist. 

Eventually Enjolras pulled away, and Grantaire stifled his whimper at the loss as best he could.  Tears still glistened in the blond’s blue-grey eyes.  “You mean so much.  Do you not realize that?  I care about you, so much that it hurts me, when you hurt yourself.  Can you not see that?  Do you think this is just about sex or–or–what could you possibly think?  Can you not see that I lead revolutions _for you_?” 

 _It’s not quite a confession of love…but, perhaps this is the closest I shall ever get._  

Grantaire reached his free hand to wipe a tear from Enjolras’s cheek.  Words from a play popped into his mind, “‘For this iota, this splintered particle of grief, for this I turn the gumstuck machinery, erect the rickety carpentry of my illusions…to see your granite heart soften, just a bit.’” 

“What in the world…?”  Enjolras trailed off, confusion causing his forehead to crease.

“It’s from a play…” Grantaire ran his hand over Enjolras’s face to smooth the furrow between his eyes.  “Tony Kushner adaptation of Pierre Corneille…I think you’d like it.” 

“It sounds sad.”  Enjolras whispered. 

“It is.”  He agreed, “But, it’s lovely in a way.”  Grantaire stepped away.  He pressed the bottle into Enjolras’s hand. 

Quickly, Enjolras went to the kitchen, closing the bottle and putting it away.  When he returned to Grantaire, he tentatively placed a hand on the man’s cheek.  “Will you come to bed now?”  He requested. 

Grantaire nodded once, and Enjolras led him to the bedroom.

* * *

They kissed slowly for several minutes, before Grantaire pulled Enjolras over him. 

“‘Aire…” Enjolras looked worried. 

“Please, Apollo?”  Grantaire pulled him down to kiss again. 

“You’re sure?” 

“Always.” 

Enjolras took him slowly, almost softer than the night before.  When they collapsed next to one another, Grantaire felt his heart aching again. 

Enjolras wrapped an arm around him, drawing him close. 

“With all your energy, I would have thought you would be rougher.”  Grantaire laughed, somewhat successfully covering a sob. 

“Would you like that?” 

“Yes.”  Grantaire shifted, slotting his back to Enjolras’s chest. 

“Another night, then.  But, not tonight.” 

“Why?”  He asked his pillow. 

“You worship your Apollo.  Let me worship my Dionysus.”  Enjolras whispered into his ear. 

Grantaire kept the tears in until Enjolras fell asleep, but not after he heard the soft snores from beside him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for everyone reading/commenting/kudoing this. I am glad you're enjoying it.
> 
> P.S. I almost forgot to post today. Sorry! I was being inducted into Phi Beta Kappa. There's a secret handshake. It's silly.


	13. Chapter 13

When Grantaire woke up, he was alone in the bed.  He sat up and rubbed his eyes, trying to remember all of the night before.  He recalled fighting with Enjolras and sex afterwards.  He also remembered thinking, _This is the closest I shall ever get_ _to a love confession from Enjolras_ , but what Enjolras had exactly said wasn’t coming forward.  The bed felt cold, so he slipped from the covers. 

After dressing, he noticed the glass of water and aspirin on the nightstand.  He swallowed them quickly, and padded into the living room, trying to will his headache into submission.  Then, he made his way to the kitchen, and began searching for coffee. 

“Hey…” 

Grantaire turned around to see Courfeyrac, looking a little sleepy, in a t-shirt and boxers.  “Morning.”  Grantaire nodded. 

“Look, uh…I just wanted to say sorry for yesterday–” 

“It’s fine.”  He turned back to rifle through cabinets. 

“No, it’s not.”  Courfeyrac caught him by the arm, and Grantaire turned to face him.  “I was out of line, and I was stupid.  I just–I’m used to…I have been hurt before.  And, all of us have been banged up once or twice.  I can deal with that, you know?” 

“I do.”  Grantaire agreed. 

“But, like, we’ve always been alright.  Black eyes, I think Bossuet broke his nose once, but we were all able to walk away.  Jehan…Jehan was on the ground and bleeding, and not getting up, and shit…” Courfeyrac covered his mouth and shook with silent tears for a moment, “Sorry, I just couldn’t stop seeing him like that, and I was scared like I’ve never been before, and– 

“Hey, hey, hey.”  Grantaire set his hand on Courfeyrac’s arm, “I understand.”   

Courfeyrac smiled, wiping tears away.  “Sorry.  I know Jehan isn’t made of glass, but thinking he might not wake up…but, still, I was wrong, and you were freaked out, just like I was, and I shouldn’t have yelled.  I’m sorry.” 

“Apology accepted.” 

“I should thank you, really.  You helped get Jehan out of there.”  Courfeyrac leaned against the counter, looking pensive, “If you hadn’t been there, who knows what would have happened…” 

Grantaire stepped closer, nudging Courfeyrac with his shoulder, “If I hadn’t been there, you would have saved him, like a knight on a white horse to rescue the fair prince.” 

Courfeyrac chuckled.  “Thank you for the confidence.” 

“Of course!”  He encouraged. 

“God,” Courfeyrac sighed, “I haven’t felt like this about someone in so long.  Jehan…he makes me feel…whole, I guess is the best word for it.”  Courfeyrac moved and started making tea.  Grantaire attempted to find coffee again, and still failed.  “Like he is the part of me that I never knew was missing, but all of a sudden, he’s there, and I can’t imagine he wasn’t.  Like I was missing an arm before, and just never picked up on it until it grew.” 

Grantaire snickered, “It’s not quite up to Jehan’s level of eloquence, but I appreciate the sentiment.” 

“Jehan’s the poet for a reason.”  Courfeyrac shrugged, as the kettle boiled. 

“Have you told him this?”  Grantaire asked, giving up on coffee, “He may laugh at your attempt at such Shakespearean odes, but he’ll like to hear it nonetheless.” 

With a giggle, he answered, “Well…I told him I loved him about a week after we met, so…” 

“That’s…quick.”  _It took more than a week for us to even see each other a second time…_  

“Yeah, I probably broke about half a dozen dating commandments, but I figured, if you know…why wait?” 

“Why indeed…”  Grantaire felt something heavy spread through his chest.  _I am not jealous…_  

“Courfeyrac?”  Jehan popped his head around the corner of the hallway.  Though the bruise across his left eye seemed painful, he smiled, looking very comfortable in his oversized nightshirt.  “Come back to bed.” 

“I was just getting tea, love.”  Courfeyrac grinned and crossed to his boyfriend, handing him a mug of tea. 

Sleepily, Jehan tipped his head up and kissed Courfeyrac lightly.  “Thank you.”  He whispered. 

Courfeyrac adjusted the sleeve of Jehan’s nightshirt, which had slipped off his shoulder, before pulling Jehan into his arms.  “You want to go back to bed?” 

“Mhmm.”  He mumbled, snuggling against Courfeyrac’s chest. 

“Okay then.”  He murmured into Jehan’s hair. 

He tossed a quick, “Talk to you later, ‘Taire,” over his shoulder, as Jehan led him back into his bedroom. 

Grantaire pressed his mouth into a thin line.  He turned back to the counter, mentally thinking where he could have put the coffee beans, when he decided, Eponine had probably finished them and not told him.  Then, he heard the front door open and close. 

“Morning, Enjolras.”  He said, half to himself. 

Grantaire could hear Enjolras shrugging off his coat.  Suddenly, strong arms wrapped around him, and Enjolras pressed his face against Grantaire’s neck.  Grantaire shivered, “You’re cold.” 

“It’s raining outside.” 

“Ah.” 

Enjolras kissed his shoulder.  “I brought coffee,” he informed. 

“Ah!  My saviour!”  Grantaire turned in Enjolras’s arms.  “Have I told you how much I love you?”  He stretched up to kiss Enjolras thoroughly. 

Eventually, Enjolras pulled away, “Grantaire,” he asked, “Can we talk?” 

Grantaire did his best to stifle a gasp, but if he was feeling nervous before, now dread was fully pulsing through his veins.  “ _Can we talk?”  You could at least be a little more subtle about a break-up speech._ “Are we not talking?”  Grantaire attempted a joke. 

“It’s important.”  Enjolras pulled away, holding onto Grantaire’s hand, to lead him to the couch, “About last night.” 

“I see…”  _I don’t blame you, butohgod…_  

“Grantaire…”  Enjolras looked up to make eye contact.  Grantaire did his best to hold the gaze, without hyperventilating or crying. 

“Yes?” 

“What happened last night…”  Enjolras looked away, “God, this is hard for me to say.” 

 _Think of how hard it will be for me to hear it.  I guarantee, it will be harder for me._  

“Grantaire,” Enjolras shot his hand out to take Grantaire’s, “You need to stop drinking.” 

“What?”  Grantaire nearly choked on air. 

“I mean, not entirely.  You’re an adult, who can legally drink, and you can make your own choices, but like last night, and the night in the café, that can’t happen.  When you lose yourself like that, it scares me.” 

“Scares you?” 

“Grantaire, when you get wasted, you give into all these demons, and I am so afraid of saying something that will really hurt you.  I know, I am not tactful, and I will hurt you sometimes, without meaning to, but when you’re drunk.  When you completely lose control, I get so upset, that I get even worse, and I can’t do that.  When you’re drunk, I can’t handle myself, and I can’t handle you…” 

Grantaire stared at the table.  “You do have the weight of the world on your shoulders…” 

“Grantaire…please?  I can’t–” 

“Would you leave?  If I didn’t stop drinking, would you end this?”  Grantaire still didn’t look into the fiery eyes. 

“I–” Grantaire felt Enjolras start.  “Would that…would that change your response?” 

“I don’t know.”  He answered truthfully.  _I am a drunken cynic, and if you can’t accept that, how will we ever stay together?  But, if you…love…care about me enough to want to save a damned man…_  

“Then don’t ask.”  Enjolras squeezed his hand. 

“I just…Enjolras, the drink has been part of me for so long…I just…” Grantaire decided confessing to the coffee stain on the wooden table was much easier.  

“You won’t even try?”  Enjolras’s voice cracked. 

With a sigh, Grantaire said, “No, I will try.”  He finally looked at Enjolras, soberly, “I just won’t succeed.” 

A soft smile broke across Enjolras’s face, and he firmly grasped both of Grantaire’s hands.  “You will,” he asserted. 

 _Do not place such hopes in me. Do not make me another failed revolution; I cannot bear to break your heart that way._ “I am not so strong, dearest.” 

Enjolras kissed him softly, “You are, and I will be here.  I will help how I can.  I promise.” 

The kiss was so tender, he wanted to cry, “I am bound to disappoint you.”  He whispered to Enjolras’s shoulder. 

Apollo took Dionysus’s chin between his fingers, tipping his face to look in his eyes.  “You won’t.  You can’t, as long as you keep trying.” 

“Then…I’ll try.”  _For you…_


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for withdrawal in this chapter.

Later that day, Enjolras and Grantaire emptied his apartment of all alcohol, save Eponine’s bottle of Sailor Jerry’s.  Grantaire shivered, as Enjolras poured the vodka down the sink.   

“I’m proud of you.”  Enjolras insisted, squeezing Grantaire’s shoulder. 

Grantaire just nodded, fingers twitching. 

The day progressed fairly smoothly.  They shared breakfast at the coffee table.  Grantaire edited pictures, while Enjolras read for his classes, in comfortable silence.  Occasionally, Enjolras would mention something political, and Grantaire would say something snarky, which usually made Enjolras nod and note something.  Once, they got into a relatively good-natured debate. 

Around three in the afternoon, was when Grantaire began to feel himself crumble.  He had been waiting for the withdrawal to start.  With Enjolras, he had been drinking less, but his drinking habits were still significant.   

As the sun sunk low in the sky, he became less and less able to concentrate.  His hands trembled over the computer keys, so he eventually closed his work to avoid ruining some photo by mistake.  It felt like the temperature in the room was steadily increasing, and he kept wiping his forehead, which was beading with sweat.  He felt a headache building behind his eyes, and his breath hitched, as the computer screen blurred in front of him. 

“‘Aire?” 

“Hmm…”  He grunted noncommittally. 

“Are you okay?” 

He gritted his teeth, “Fine.” 

“What is it?”  Enjolras put his things away, and looked fully at Grantaire.

“Nothing.  I’m fine.”  He pushed the computer to his side and covered his face with his hands, feeling his skin crawl with a strange, wormlike sensations.  He groaned. 

Enjolras walked to him and pressed a cool hand to his forehead.  “Shit, ‘Aire, you’re burning up.” 

“I know.” 

“What can I do?” 

“Get me something to drink…”  He grumbled. 

Enjolras jumped up and brought him a cool glass of water.  Grantaire smirked.  He had expected as much, though he hoped for something stronger. 

The water was bitter as it poured down his throat.  He curled into a ball on the couch, hugging his knees to his chest.  Enjolras wrapped his arms around him, as he started shaking harder.  He heard Enjolras swear. 

“What alcohol do you have at your apartment?”  Grantaire asked.  _Eponine’s rum is far too tempting here…_  

“‘Taire…” He warned. 

“Just answer!”  He snapped. 

“I–I don’t know.  I think ‘Ferre has a six-pack of beer or something. 

“Can we go to yours?”  He felt his heart pounding in his chest. 

“Will that help?” 

“I need to not be here.” 

“Fine, then.”  Enjolras answered, confused, and helped Grantaire stand and get out of the apartment. 

The cool air of he night felt freezing against his sweaty skin, and he was pretty sure his brain was going to beat itself out of his skull.  Enjolras’s hand was steady on his lower back, and the blond kept his eyes fixed on Grantaire in concern.  _This is why I haven’t succeeded giving this up before, Apollo._  

On the metro, Grantaire realized he was making a terrible mistake, as the combination of fluorescent train lights and the shaking car caused a wave of nausea to wash over him.  He doubled over on the seat and tried to settle his breathing, vaguely aware of Enjolras’s voice, pitched with worry. 

Once the metro stopped two stations away, Grantaire all but launched himself to a trash can, where he emptied the contents of his stomach. 

“God, Grantaire…come, let’s get you home.”  Enjolras nearly had to carry him. 

Enjolras settled Grantaire in his bed, and Grantaire caught the scent of Enjolras’s organic conditioner, through the haze.  Normally, he would have reveled in it, but it wasn’t nearly soothing enough, as he felt is heart and head about to explode.  The effect of the cold night air had worn off, and he thrashed, kicking off the stifling blankets over him. 

He heard Enjolras on the phone in hushed tones.  He couldn’t quite make out all the words, but he thought he recognized Joly’s name in the jumble.  His voice sounded worried, but it was still nice. 

When Enjolras curled around him in the bed, he was torn.  Enjolras was far too warm, but his smooth breathing and strong arms were like an anchor, reminding him _inhale, exhale, inhale…_ so he clutched at the blond’s shirt, holding him tightly. 

He felt white hot needles stabbing at his skin, and he whimpered. 

Enjolras whispered, “I’m here.  You’ll be alright.  I’m here, I promise.” 

And, Grantaire made a pact with himself that he would wake up in the morning, if only to assure that Enjolras would keep his word.

* * *

He wretched himself awake the next morning, struggling with blankets that had wrapped around him through the night.  His entire body was spasming, and he screamed. 

“Shit, shit, shit…” he heard from the door.  After a moment, he felt warm hands on his shoulders. 

He snapped his eyes open, and for a second he saw an angel’s face, but it blurred, then came into focus, and blurred again, so he closed his eyes, and just leaned forward, letting arms from the angel engulf him. 

“God,” the angel laughed, “I left you for a minute, just to get you water, and this is what happens?” 

“Don’t leave.”  Whoever this angel was was nice, and he swore, which didn’t seem like a normal thing for angels, so he must be special. 

“I’m here.” 

Grantaire started shaking, and he felt fire on his skin.  He shoved the angel away.  _Angels shouldn’t be burned._  

“Grantaire, please…” 

For a moment, Grantaire, eyes still shut, tried to push the angels hands from him.  _Angels must not be burned!_ But, Grantaire was far too selfish a creature to keep away those strong hands, which offered so much comfort, and he let the angel pull him into his arms. 

He gasped for air, as his body trembled again.

* * *

Over the next few days, the hallucinations and convulsions subsided. 

His head still pounded, and he was still nauseous, and every so often a wave of fever would hit him, but Enjolras finally felt comfortable leaving Grantaire alone for more than thirty seconds. 

Grantaire hadn’t been thrilled about Enjolras leaving, and Enjolras himself seemed reluctant, but Joly insisted that Enjolras eat a proper meal and at least sleep a bit, saying, “If you run yourself ragged, you’ll get sick, and then be of no use to either of you,” so Enjolras took a nap, and then went out to grab food for the both of them, Chinese takeout for him, and chicken noodle soup for Grantaire. 

This was the problem.  Grantaire had let Enjolras sleep and go, because it had been the right thing to do.  He was enough of a burden for his Apollo, he couldn’t keep him from doing everything he needed. 

But, Grantaire was weak.  He always had been.  He knew this. 

And, apparently, Enjolras didn’t know about Courfeyrac’s bottle of gin, and Courfeyrac didn’t know that Grantaire had found it. 

Grantaire groaned.  The other roommates were at the café, running things for Enjolras, who was busy playing nursemaid.  _Grantaire you selfish bastard._  

He stared at the bottle, tears springing to his eyes.  His hands were shaking again.  He just needed a little… _just to stop the shaking and dull the headache…_  

He swigged from the bottle, the familiar burn comforting for a split second, before he let out a sob.  _I said I would fail you.  I told you…Just leave me here._ Grantaire lifted the bottle again, drinking, trying to forget trusting, faithful eyes, and a warm smile. 

“Grantaire!” 

Grantaire didn’t even turn to the voice filled with shock and anger.  He moaned sliding to his knees, forehead resting on the doors of the cabinets under the sink. 

“What are you doing?  Where did you get that?”  He sounded angry, betrayed, and Grantaire couldn’t blame them. 

“Just leave me!”  He moaned into the woodwork. 

“Grantaire.  Fuck, come on.”  Grantaire felt a hand on his shoulder, trying to pull him up. 

He flinched away.  He wasn’t drunk, not really, only a buzz through his head.  But, he felt wretched, and collapsed in on himself, his shoulders heaving with tears. 

“Grantaire…” Enjolras’s voice was suddenly soft. 

“Leave me…here, in the streets, at the bottom of the fucking Potomac!  Just let me go!  I can’t do this!  I can’t!”  He started slamming his head against the cabinet, before he was physically hauled from the solid object.  He flailed for a moment, before Enjolras, who was apparently much stronger than him, succeeded in holding him still. 

Several minutes later, Grantaire’s hitching breath evened slightly.  He turned his face into the crook of Enjolras’s neck.  “I’m sorry…” he mumbled, tears soaking the collar of Enjolras’s shirt. 

“It’ll get better.  I know it.”  Enjolras tried to comfort him. 

Grantaire started crying again, “Why?” he beseeched, “Why are you still here?” 

“Because, I believe in you, idiot.”  He whispered, somewhat fondly. 

Grantaire pulled away to face him, “You believe in me?” he deadpanned. 

Enjolras smiled, “From the first time you made me laugh.” 

“You believe in me…” 

“I do.”  He leaned forward to kiss Grantaire gently.  When he leaned back, he said, “Let’s sleep.”  He helped Grantaire stand. 

After a beat, Grantaire handed Enjolras the bottle of gin.  Enjolras set it on the counter. 

“Say it again.”  Grantaire pleaded. 

“I believe in you.”  Enjolras started to lead Grantaire to the bedroom. 

“Again.” 

“I believe in you.” 

“Again…” 

And so, Enjolras repeated it throughout the night, “I believe in you.  I believe in you.  I believe in you…”


	15. Chapter 15

After that night, there were no more huge setbacks.  Enjolras never left Grantaire’s side.  Holding him through the shaking and fevers, all the time, whispering, “You’re doing so well.  I’m so proud of you.”  When he sobbed, begging for a drink, Enjolras held his hands, kissing his wrists and hands, and repeating, “You are worth breaking this,” and he didn’t believe he was, but Enjolras insisted, so he kept trying. 

The fever slowly faded.  The headaches slowly subsided, and slowly, his hands steadied.  After a few weeks, he was able to work his camera and computer without fear of breaking something. 

“How are you feeling?”  Enjolras leaned down to kiss Grantaire’s cheek, looking over the man’s shoulder to see the photo on Grantaire’s computer: One of Enjolras by the river. 

“Okay.”  He answered. 

  Enjolras sat next to him on the floor.  “Head?” 

“Alright.” 

“Hands?” 

“Fine.” 

He turned Grantaire’s head to kiss his forehead, and Grantaire could feel him smile against his skin.  “No fever.”  He mumbled. 

Grantaire ducked his head and let himself smile.  “Three weeks.” 

“I know.”  He peppered kisses along Grantaire’s jaw, “I am so very proud of you.” 

The recovering drunk felt his cheeks flush. 

“Enj…” He gasped, as the blond began to suck at a particularly sensitive place on his neck, “I–I was working…on your photos…” 

“Should I stop?” 

“I–well–I just…” 

Enjolras smiled.  He brushed his lips against Grantaire’s once, before he pulled back, and picked up Grantaire’s laptop, setting it aside.  Gently, he pushed Grantaire onto his back.  After kissing him deeply, Enjolras whispered, “You have made so much progress, and I am so proud and happy, but we haven’t been able to do anything in weeks.”  He kissed him again.  “If you don’t feel like it, we’ll stop, but I’ve missed this.” 

“So have I.” He breathed, before leaning up and nearly ravaging Enjolras’s mouth. 

The separated for a moment.  “So?” 

“Yes, please.” 

As Grantaire had once asked, Enjolras took him hard.  He was careful at first, but eventually, he let go of restraint.  Grantaire panted, and Enjolras bit into Grantaire’s shoulder to keep from screaming, and Grantaire was sure he would have rug burns on his back, he could feel it.  But, it was fine.  It was good even.  There was nothing that fogged his senses, nothing that dulled the friction and heat.  The burn and the bite marks, and bruises from tight fingers on his hips, he could feel them. 

And, he felt alive.

* * *

Days later, Enjolras texted him. 

_R, I’m outside.  Let me in._  

When Grantaire opened the door, and say his boyfriend, he promptly shrieked. 

Enjolras’s eyes went wide.  “I–uh…” 

“Your hair!”  Grantaire groaned, stepping forward and taking now cropped curls into his hand, and running his fingers through the strands, which were no longer long enough to fall into Enjolras’s eyes, as he led battles.  Far too short to pull back. 

“Does it look that bad?”  Enjolras sheepishly cocked an eyebrow. 

“I–no, no, you’d look fine bald with suit from a burlap sack…I just…I’m going to miss your hair.” 

“It’s still there…” 

“Yes, but now, it’s so short…”  _Apollo with short hair…it is disconcerting.  You look less like a classical hero, with hair blowing in the wind, but you still glow like the god of sun and music, and it confuses me._  

“Yeah…I have a potential job interview when I leave tomorrow for the holidays.  My parents feel like the short hair is more professional looking.”  Enjolras shrugged. 

“Interview for what?” 

“Grassroots non-profit.  Human and environmental rights.” 

Grantaire smiled, “Sounds very you.” 

“It would be great.  With the pay, I’d be able to get a place of my own, fairly straight off.  Nothing super-nice, but standing on my own instead of relying on my family.” 

“That would be nice.” 

“Yeah…speaking of which…” 

“Yes?”  Grantaire questioned. 

“So, my interview’s the day after I get back, and then there’s the family ski trip, but after that, I have no plans.  Do you think you could come up to New York?” 

“I’m sorry?”  Grantaire nearly choked. 

“I just–I’d like you to meet my parents, and I’d like to see you–” 

“Enj, I can’t afford a trip to the city.”  _Also, your parents will hate me._  

“I’m sure I can get my parents to help, and I’ve saved some money.” 

_Nonononono, don’t prove I’m a deadbeat,_ “I don’t need charity, sweetheart.” 

“It’s not charity!  I want to see you!”  Enjolras exclaimed. 

“And, I want to see you.”  He stepped forward, reaching to hold Enjolras’s hand.  _I wish always to look on you._   “But, I’d be busy down here, anyway.  I need to make up some work, which I’ve missed these weeks.”  He leaned up to kiss Enjolras, “And, a couple weeks away from my greatest distraction may prove productive.”  _I’ll need to be productive to deal with you not here.  But meeting your family…why doom myself?_  

“You’ll be alright on your own?” 

_Ah, so here we are,_ “Don’t you trust me?” 

“I–what?” 

“You don’t trust me not to drink.”  He felt himself sneer, and he wished he could stop. 

“What?  That’s not what I–That’s not true–” 

“Isn’t it?  This is new, I understand, and you are so careful about progress and all–” 

“Stop it.”  Enjolras snapped harshly, suddenly grasping Grantaire by the arms in hands like vices.  His eyes were on fire, and Grantaire could imagine him opening his mouth and converting the world to his cause.  Grantaire felt his breathing stop.  Enjolras opened and closed his mouth a couple times before he jumped back, releasing Grantaire as if disgusted.  “I’m not going to do this.  I came here to ask you to visit and say goodbye before I left.  I’m not going to fight.  You won’t visit, because you’re too fucking proud.  Fine.” 

“Also, I just hate New York.” 

“What?”  Enjolras turned back to Grantaire. 

“It’s a filthy, overrated city.  I don’t like it.”  _That’s not entirely true.  Perhaps, I’d feel differently, if I’d ever been there…but, I dislike most things.  I think it’s a safe bet._  

Enjolras gaped, “I see.  I didn’t know you felt like that…I’m sorry I asked then.” 

“It’s fine.  You didn’t know.”  He said, forcedly casual, running a hand through his dark locks. 

“No, I didn’t.  Have a nice Christmas, ‘Taire.” 

As Enjolras exited, Grantaire responded, “You, too, Apollo.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! So sorry it's taken a few days to update. I've been moving out of my dorm room in college back home. It's been hectic.


	16. Chapter 16

He didn’t hear from Enjolras for days.  But, it was now Christmas, and Jehan was making a very valiant attempt to distract him, enlisting his help in decorating the apartment with garlands, paper snowflakes, and tiny Christmas lights. 

Eponine walked through the living room, “Jehan, don’t kill yourself hanging that.”  She laughed, as Jehan stood on his toes at the top of the ladder, sticking a snowflake to the wall. 

“I’m fine!”  He called. 

“Okay, well, ‘Taire, hold him to that.” 

Grantaire nodded from the couch, where he untangled strings of lights. 

“I’m going to drop off Gavroche’s present, then I’m meeting Marius.”  Eponine shrugged on her coat. 

“Oh?”  Grantaire perked up, and Jehan spun on his step. 

“He invited me to his family’s Christmas party.  It’s not…well, it might be a date.  I don’t know.  We’ve been ‘out’ a ton now, but he’s never kissed me, and hasn’t even made a move to hold my hand, so I have no idea what the hell is going on.  I mean taking things slowly is great, but at this point, there are glaciers moving more quickly than us.” 

“Well…Marius is an awkward and shy boy, maybe you should take the first step…inviting you to his family’s seems like a good sign, anyhow.”  Grantaire reasoned.  Jehan nodded. 

“I don’t know…well, here’s hoping for some well placed mistletoe tonight.”  She winked. 

“Will you be at ‘Ferre’s party later?”  Jehan asked, turning back to his Christmas decorating. 

“Yeah, though I may be a bit late.” 

“Well, we’ll see you then.”  Grantaire replied. 

“Yep!”  She announced, and spun out the door. 

“Here, you go.”  Grantaire stood and handed Jehan the now neatly coiled wire. 

“Thank you, sweetheart.” 

“You seeing Courf tonight?”  Grantaire asked, as he moved to their very short tree. 

“Ah, no, he’s in Los Angeles with his family, but he’ll be flying back soon.  He’ll be here for New Year’s.” 

Grantaire could see the smile and light blush dusting Jehan’s freckled face.  “Well, that’ll be nice.  Kiss at midnight and all that.” 

“Yeah…”  The poet looked lost in a very happy dream, before snapping back into a much more serious place, “Have you talked to Enjolra–” 

“No, I haven’t.”  Grantaire turned to the kitchen to make coffee, caffeine was becoming his drug of choice. 

“I think you should–” 

“He made it very clear he didn’t want to talk to me.  If he’s changed his mind, he can tell me.” 

“Dear…” Grantaire felt Jehan’s light hand on his shoulder. 

“Jehan…” he sighed. 

“I just–” Jehan’s eyes were bright and earnest, “I don’t want you to give up on this.  I think he’s very good for you–” 

“He’s an angel, who inspires the lowest of creatures, and I am an eternal cynic, _one of_ the lowest creatures, of course he is–” 

“And,” Jehan broke back in, “I think you’re very good for him.” 

“You’re insane.”  Grantaire shook his head, abandoning coffee for escape. 

“You don’t see it, I know you don’t,” Jehan argued, following him, “But, you ground him and make him sharper, and he is so very in love with you–” 

Grantaire laughed sharply. 

“He does.  I can see it.” 

“He hasn’t said it once.” 

“Well, he–” 

“Look, for a man with such power with words, a man who can charm gods and men alike, don’t you think he’d be able to figure out such a simple phrase?”  Grantaire interrupted. 

“I–I don’t…look, maybe he hasn’t said anything–” 

“He hasn’t.” 

Jehan insisted.  “But, he loves you.  The way he looks at you, he loves you so much.” 

“And, how does he look at me?”  Grantaire mocked, turning pointedly to look at the poet. 

“The same way you look at him.”  Jehan answered simply. 

Grantaire faltered. 

“I don’t know why he hasn’t ever said it, but he very obviously does love you.  Maybe, he’s scared.” 

“Why would he be?  I’ve told him time and time again that I loved him.  He clearly should have no doubts about my feelings.” 

“Maybe, he’s afraid of himself.  Feelings are scary sometimes.” 

“Rejection is scary.  Loss is scary.  Love isn’t, not when it’s clear the person you love loves you back, which it is.” 

“No, love is scary, too.  The depth of emotion…needing someone is terrifying, just as it’s exhilarating.  It can make your heart feel like it will stop, just as it makes it beat stronger than before.”  _Ever a poet…_  

Grantaire raised an eyebrow.  “Is that how you feel with Courfeyrac?” 

Jehan smiled, tilting his head slightly to one side, “Every day.”

* * *

Grantaire felt a bit strange in Enjolras’s apartment, when the chief wasn’t present.  But Combeferre was the only one in his room there for Christmas.  Enjolras and Courfeyrac having flown to their respective states, and Marius at his parents’ home, in Virginia, just out of the District. 

Once he came through the door, he had to smile.  Jehan had gone early to help Combeferre decorate, and it showed with splashes of colored tinsel and sparkling lights.  Grantaire guessed that Combeferre had given the poet free reign of the apartment.  There was even a Christmas playlist. 

“Grantaire!  I’ve heard so much about you!” 

Grantaire was nearly knocked back, as a body came flying at him.  When he pulled back, he met eyes with the most stunning girl he had ever seen.  Her thick hair fell in dark waves around her face and shoulders.  It cascaded down her back, like water.  Her eyes were deep, soulful, and sparkling.  And the way she moved and smiled, Grantaire was fairly certain that she was the most sensual being he had ever seen. 

“‘Chetta, don’t scare him.”  Bossuet came up behind her, grinning, wrapping his arms around her waist.  He kissed her shoulder. 

She turned in his arms, and pouted, “I’m just being friendly.”  After a second, her face broke into a grin, and she pecked Bossuet on the lips.  He smiled back.   

“Oh!”  Grantaire comprehended, “You’re Musichetta!  I’ve heard of you.”  He had heard Joly mention her in passing, anyhow. 

She grinned, flashing white teeth.  “Where’s Joly?”  She asked, taking Bossuet’s left hand in both of hers. 

“Getting us drinks.”  He nodded at the table, which contained a bowl of eggnog, another of mulled wine, in addition to hard liquor and mixers.  “Grantaire, anything?” 

“Ahh, I don’t know…” he said warily. 

“Oh, come on, it’s Christmas!”  Musichetta put a hand on his arm. 

“We can make the eggnog, without the rum, if you like.”  Bossuet nodded. 

Grantaire smiled, “That would be fine.” 

Bossuet called the order to Joly, who remarkably was able to carry four cups from the table to where they stood. 

“I could have helped you.”  Bossuet teased, as he took his drink from Joly. 

“You would have spilled them.”  Musichetta tapped him on the nose. 

He made a face, before kissing her nose. 

“Hey!  Don’t leave me out.”  Joly joked, as he handed the drinks to Musichetta and Grantaire. 

After a smirk, Musichetta grabbed Joly, pulling the doctor against her, and kissing him soundly, causing him to spill half his drink.  Grantaire jumped to avoid it. 

“So, who would have spilled their drink?”  Bossuet asked, a fond smile playing on his face. 

“Oh, hush, you.”  Joly said.  He kissed Bossuet lightly on the cheek. 

Grantaire was amazed at the three, going on, as if they were the only ones in the room.  Eventually, he felt a hand pull him away.  Combeferre wrapped his arm around the photographer’s shoulders, “Yes, they’re always like that.  They share brainwaves or something, those three.” 

“Like Courf and Jehan?” 

“Yes, but even more married.  I can see Jehan and Courfeyrac becoming like them, though…” 

“Fun.”  Grantaire said, flatly. 

“E still being…difficult?”

“No, it’s been easy, really.  He doesn’t talk to me.  I don’t talk to him.  It’s been very simple.” 

Combeferre grimaced.  “Sorry.” 

“It’s fine.”  After that, Grantaire politely excused himself from Combeferre’s side. 

For a while, he sat on the couch, before Jehan pulled him up, forcing him to dance with him to “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree.”  “I will not have you sulk all night!”  He insisted. 

Post-dance, Grantaire was in lighter spirits.  He talked with Jehan and Combeferre.  Musichetta floated from one person to another, before returning to her boys.  Her smile lit the room, and Grantaire decided he would have been jealous, if he hadn’t been so painfully in love with Enjolras that he could let himself be distracted.  Also, they just fit so well together, he couldn’t imagine taking her away.  Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta danced and then nearly collapsed on the couch, in each others arms. 

A couple hours in, a hard knock cam from the door.  When Combeferre opened it, Eponine, burst though the door, spotting and walking straight to the drink table, proceeding to take several shots of rum. 

The entire party turned to her.  The only sound was the continued verse of “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen.” 

“‘Ponine, you okay?”  Grantaire ventured. 

She shook her head and walked swiftly away.  She plopped herself on the ground in the corner.  After a moment, Combeferre sat next to her, asking if she wanted to talk. 

“Has she told you anything?”  Grantaire turned to Jehan. 

The poet shook his head.  Grantaire made a move to her, but Jehan stopped him, “Combeferre is the best listener I’ve met.  Maybe he should deal with this.” 

“But, we know her better…” 

“If she wanted someone who knew her, she’d have spoken to you already.”  He tilted his head pointedly. 

“Fair enough.” 

A few minutes later, Combeferre took Eponine to the kitchen for some privacy.  Around 11:30, Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta made their excuses to leave.  Grantaire and Jehan looked at one another.  “We should wait.  I guess…” Jehan said.  So, they sat down, Jehan humming songs, and Grantaire playing a game on his phone, occasionally talking to each other. 

About 11:50, Grantaire’s phone chimed, a text from Enjolras: 

_R, Merry Christmas.  I hope you had a good day._  

After a moment, another text came: 

_Look, I wanted to apologize.  I shouldn’t have treated you that like I did, before I left.  If you weren’t comfortable about taking the money, I shouldn’t have gotten upset about that.  This is still new for us.  I shouldn’t have pushed._  

Then another: 

_But, you should know, it was never supposed to be charity.  Even if it seemed like that.  I just wanted you to know how very important you are to me.  I don’t tell you enough.  You mean so much to me.  I can’t even tell you how much you’ve brought to my life._  

Finally: 

_I understand if you’re still upset.  You don’t need to respond, but just, thank you.  For everything.  Merry Christmas, again._  

Grantaire sighed and typed back: 

_Merry Christmas, Apollo.  Love you._  

Combeferre stepped through the door, carrying a sleeping Eponine.  “Hey, guys, sorry, I’ve been a neglectful host.” 

Jehan and Grantaire stood, protesting his apology. 

“Look, I think she can sleep here tonight.  She can use my bed, and I’ll sleep on Enj’s.” 

“You sure?”  Jehan asked. 

“We can get her home.”  Grantaire added. 

“It’s just as well she stayed.  I wouldn’t want to wake her.”  Combeferre shrugged as best he could, with the girl in his arms. 

“Alright, then.”  Jehan conceded, and the two men left together. 

They walked home, through the brisk night air.  In the distance, they heard the clock strike midnight, as Enjolras’s message came through.  Grantaire smiled at his phone: 

_:-)  Sleep well, Dionysus._


	17. Chapter 17

“Jehan, I’m fine, really.”  Grantaire said into his phone, as he sat on the couch with his computer.  “Have fun.” 

“Okay, but come over if you change your mind.”  The sweet voice repeated on the other end. 

“Will do, no worries.” 

“Alright, night ‘Taire.  Happy New Year.” 

“Happy New Year.  Kiss that boy of yours like crazy.” 

“Ha!  Absolutely.”  Grantaire could almost hear the grin on Jehan’s face. 

He hung up the phone and started _The Fellowship of the Ring_ on his computer.  There was nothing like a _Lord of the Rings_ marathon to get him through a long night alone.  He wished he could be better.  That he could just join his friends at Courfeyrac’s New Year’s Eve party, but he could take Jehan and Courfeyrac, and he could take Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta.  Two perfect relationships were too much.  And, in the week since Christmas, Eponine had been spending almost all her free time with Combeferre.  He wasn’t sure what was going on there. 

“No, Boromir, don’t do it.  Don’t–damn…” He grumbled at the screen, as Boromir creepily looked at the Ring.  “Jeez, Boromir, you had one job–” 

A knock came from the door. 

Grantaire jumped slightly.  After he recovered, he paced towards the door, calling “Jehan, did you forget something?” 

When the door opened, Grantaire’s jaw fell, as he saw Enjolras standing on the stair landing. 

“Hey.”  The blond smiled. 

After a beat, Grantaire cleared his throat and replied, “Uh–hi.” 

“Can I come in?”  Enjolras gestured to the living room. 

Grantaire stammered.  “I–uh–yeah, sure–of course, sorry.” 

Gracefully, Enjolras stepped into the apartment.  “Thanks.”  He mumbled. 

“I thought–I thought you were coming back next week…” 

“I was, but I decided to take an earlier flight.  I figured…” he cleared his throat, “I figured, if I spent Christmas with my family, I’d like to at least have New Year’s with you.” 

Grantaire’s eyes went wide, “Really?” 

Enjolras ducked his face, blushing, “Well, I’ve never had a kiss at midnight on New Year’s Eve, and…I’d really like that with you, so–” 

“Wait, never?” 

“You have?” 

“Yes.”  Grantaire said, as if it were obvious. 

“I’ve never been in a relationship on New Year’s.”  Enjolras justified. 

“Neither have I…” 

Enjolras raised an eyebrow.  “I’m not sure if that makes it better or worse.” 

“Well, I’ve never had a New Year’s kiss that meant much.  Does that help?”  He shrugged a bit sheepishly. 

Enjolras smiled.  “I suppose.”  He stepped forward to kiss Grantaire, who put a hand up to stop him. 

“Not until midnight.” 

An incredulous laugh left Enjolras’s mouth. 

“It’s 10:30.  You don’t have too long to wait.” 

Shaking his head, Enjolras stepped forward and hugged Grantaire tightly.  “Ugh, fine.”  Over Grantaire’s shoulder, he mumbled, “You’re infuriating, you know?” 

“Of course.” 

“Fortunately, I like you that way.”  Enjolras pressed his nose into Grantaire black hair, but carefully refrained from kissing him.  “Ah!”  Enjolras pulled away.  “I–uh–I got you a present.  Obviously, it’s late now, but…”  He fished a small package out of his pocket.  “I hope you like it.  I’m really bad at gifts.  Still, I–” 

“Enj, breathe.”  Grantaire interrupted, pointedly glancing at him.  “I’m sure. I’ll love it.”  He took the small package.  He reached into the red gift bag.  Inside there was a small guidebook of France. 

“I mean, we had that one conversation about how you spoke French.  I guessed you might want to go someday, and I–umm…open the cover.” 

Grantaire carefully flipped the front flap.  As he did, two slips of paper fell out.  He picked them up from the floor; theatre tickets: 

  _Forum Theatre_  


_The Illusion_

_By Pierre Corneille, Adapted by Tony Kushner_

_May 24th, 7:30 p.m._  

Grantaire blinked and looked at Enjolras.  “I–you–I…” 

“Do you like it?” 

“I–yes, I love this play!  How did you–” 

“You, um…you quoted it.”  Enjolras frowned slightly, “The night, that night after the protest, you quoted it–” 

“And you remembered?”  Grantaire gaped.  _I don’t even remember it…_

“Of course…and, well I didn’t know it, but I saw that Forum was doing it, so I thought it might be nice to see…together, you know?”  Enjolras was blushing. 

Grantaire leapt forward, grabbing Enjolras’s face, so their lips were a bare inch apart.  “I could kiss you, right now.”  He whispered. 

Enjolras let out a huff of air, “Please?”  He pleaded. 

Grantaire grinned and swiftly stepped away, “Patience, grasshopper.” 

Enjolras groaned. 

“Actually, I have something for you, too.”  Grantaire went to his bedroom and pulled the not quite neatly wrapped package from his desk drawer.  He handed it to the blond. 

“You didn’t need to–” 

“Just shut up, and open it.”  Grantaire laughed. 

Sighing as he did, carefully, he opened the green and blue checked paper.  He pulled out a nicely engraved picture frame, which held a photo of Enjolras making a speech at one of the meetings in the back of Musain.  His arms and posture radiated life.  He ran his fingers idly over the vines that decorated the frame. 

“There’s everyone…” Grantaire pointed out. 

Enjolras scanned the photo.  Jehan was in Courfeyrac’s lap.  Jehan paid attention, while Courfeyrac was obviously engrossed in Jehan’s hair.  Joly and Bossuet sat, enraptured by the speech, hands entwined.  Combeferre took notes, and smiled, looking over the rim of his glasses.  Bahorel and Feuilly looked like they were playing cards, though Feuilly looked over his shoulder at the leader.  Enjolras frowned. 

“You don’t like it?”  Grantaire deflated. 

“Oh, god, no, ‘Aire, the photo is beautiful, and this frame is stunning, I just…” 

“Yeah?”  He prompted. 

“Well, you’re not in it.” 

Grantaire laughed, “I was taking the photo.” 

“I know–I just…would like to see a picture of you sometime.” 

With a shake of his head, Grantaire said, “I’m not photogenic.” 

Enjolras shot him a look. 

“I mean it.  The only person I let take pictures of me is Eponine!” 

“Well, I may have to bribe her at some point then.” 

“Good luck.”  Grantaire snorted. 

“Anyway,” Enjolras shifted, “Why didn’t you go to Courf’s party?” 

“Ha!  I didn’t think that it was a good idea.  Me, alone, surrounded by happy couples and booze?  It sounded like a recipe for disaster.” 

“Well…” Enjolras glanced at the floor, “Would you like to go?  I mean, not to say that you should go, just because I’m here, but if you’d like to, I’d love to go with you–” 

Grantaire put a hand over Enjolras’s mouth to stop his babbling.  It wasn’t his preferred method of silencing his love, but it worked nonetheless.  “Does the rest of the group know you’re here?” 

Enjolras chuckled, “No.  They still think I’m in New York.” 

Grantaire grinned and forced himself not to press his lips against the blond’s.  He grasped both of Enjolras’s hands.  “Then, let’s stay in.” 

Enjolras smiled back, “Okay.” 

They sat on the couch and pushed play on the movie again, both offering commentary where they thought it was needed.  At 11:59, Enjolras asked, “Can we watch the countdown in Times Square?” 

“I–sure.”  Grantaire’s brow furrowed, _Of course._  

As the clock ticked in the final minute, Enjolras mumbled, “Do you really hate New York City?”  His eyes were fixed on the screen, mouth in a firm line. 

_Oh, yeah…I said that,_ “Well…not per se.  I admit, I never quite saw the appeal, but maybe one day I’ll come round…” 

_3…2…1…Happy New Year!_   The television announced. 

“…It’s just that–”  Grantaire was about to continue, when Enjolras turned his face and kissed Grantaire hard.  _It was the only thing I could think of, when you asked me to go with you…_ After that thought left his mind, which was very soon, Grantaire responded, gripping at Enjolras’s hair and neck, as the revolutionary pulled him closer, practically on top of his lap. 

Breathing hard, they separated, “Happy New Year,” Grantaire gasped. 

With the corner of his lips twitching upwards, Enjolras repeated, “Happy New Year, ‘Aire.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Random facts: I directed sections of The Illusion for a class this past year. It's an awesome play, and it felt somewhat fitting for Grantaire. Also, there actually was a production of it the summer of 2012 at Forum Theatre, which influenced the dates addressed in the story. 
> 
> That really doesn't matter at all, but I thought someone might be interested.


	18. Chapter 18

About halfway through _The Two Towers_ Grantaire and Enjolras had fallen asleep.  That Battle for Helm’s Deep was just so goddamn long… 

When there was a slam, and a frustrated groan that came from the door, they both jumped, causing Grantaire to nearly fall off the couch, saved only by Enjolras’s arms coming around him. 

“Enj?  Shit, sorry…” A sob came from the figure leaning against the wall. 

The two men gaped in silence for a beat, before Grantaire stood, “God, Eponine, what happened?” 

“Nothing, it’s fine–” 

“Bullshit.”  Grantaire pulled her into his arms.  “What’s going on?  The Christmas party, then this past week you’ve been AWOL, and now, you come in here crying.  It’s not nothing.  Talk to me.” 

“I can leave, if you like–”  Enjolras voiced from the couch, half standing. 

“No, stay.  Have fun.”  Eponine waved her hand at Enjolras, “I’m just–”  She pushed away from Grantaire’s arms, “I’ll just go to bed.”  She swayed, taking a slightly unsteady step towards her room. 

Grantaire grabbed her by the arm, “Absolutely not.”  He led her to the couch, making her sit between the two of them.  “Ep, you can talk to us, you can talk to me, or hell, you can talk to Enjolras, and I’ll leave the room, but you can’t keep hiding whatever is going on.  I’ve talked to Jehan, so I know you haven’t said anything to him either.  What’s happening?” 

The dark-haired girl moaned, covering her face with her hands for a moment, before resting her arms on her knees.  “So, you know, the Christmas party Marius had?” 

Enjolras looked at Grantaire, who nodded.  “Yeah…” 

“And, how I hoped that maybe, we could actually, you know, certainly move into the realm of ‘more-than-friends’?” 

“Yes…”  Grantaire had sinking feeling that he knew where this was going. 

“Well, that didn’t go as well as we had hoped.”  She spoke in a dead tone, facing straight forward. 

“What happened?”  Enjolras asked this time. 

“At the party…he introduced me to his new girlfriend.”  She tipped her head to the right. 

Grantaire sputtered, “He–he’s with someone?” 

“He says it’s new, but he’s already inviting her to meet his family, so take that as you will.  And, you should see her.  She’s fucking gorgeous.  Like, big, baby-blue eyes and long blond hair, and a great ass and amazing rack.  It’s not fair.”  She whined. 

Enjolras nearly choked at Eponine’s description. 

“And, the worst thing is that she’s a total sweetheart, and seems very smart.  She’s perfect, and he’s completely in love with her, and she absolutely adores him, and they look at each other like they’re the only people in the world, and he’s babbling on about how she’s like sunshine and flowers and the best girl he’s ever met, and meanwhile, I’m just sitting there, wanting to scream, ‘BUT I LOVE YOU, YOU IDIOT!  HOW DID YOU MISS THIS?’”  She buried her face in her hands again, “And, like, I thought he liked me…what did I miss?” 

Grantaire opened his mouth, but Enjolras answered her, “He does like you.  He’s never invited any of us to his family’s Christmas party.  The fact that he even did that means your special.” 

Finally, Grantaire added, “And, he told you about his new girlfriend?  Obviously he trusts you.  You may be on your way to being his best friend.” 

“I wish…I wish I could say I was content with that.  He’s amazing, and I should be happy being friends with him, but, god, I just want more.  And, not even sex, which of course, I want, but even more.  You should see how he smiles, when she walks in the room.  He just lights up, and I wish I could do that for him.  After waiting so long for that, I feel like a fucking idiot.” 

“Sorry, sweetheart.”  Grantaire wrapped his arm around her again, and she hugged him back.  “Did you see him again tonight?  Is that why you’re upset, now?” 

She pushed away from him falling against the back of the couch laughing sardonically.  “Well, yes, but Jesus, this is even worse…” 

“What?” 

“Well, this started on Christmas, too…” 

“Mhmm?”  Grantaire hummed. 

“Fuck, you know how I ended up talking to Combeferre?”  Once Grantaire nodded, she continued, “Yeah, I just–look, I love you and Jehan, but I just didn’t need someone who knew how long I’d been pining for that boy.” 

Grantaire smirked, _Because I’m so unfamiliar with pining_ , he glanced at Enjolras, and said, “Fair enough.” 

“Well, he was just so nice that night…we’ve been up late talking every day this week, and…” 

“And?”  Grantaire prompted. 

“And, well, tonight we…” 

“What?”  Enjolras asked, looking suddenly worried.  “Did he–are you–” 

“We just kissed.  At midnight, we kissed.” 

“Oh…” Enjolras sighed a breath of relief. 

Suddenly Eponine snapped, “What?  What did you think?  Am I not good enough for your precious best friend?” 

Grantaire felt himself anger at that prospect.  _Eponine deserved any man she wanted._  

“No!  God, no!  That’s not what–Eponine, I just thought–well if you’re still…interested in Marius, and you were upset, I was afraid ‘Ferre…I mean he’s a good guy, but…” Enjolras was turning bright red. 

Eponine groaned, “No…the kiss was…well, it wasn’t chaste or anything, really, like we were making out.  I thought he might–I mean maybe–Look, I asked him to fuck me, okay?” 

The two men froze.  “Ep, you did what?”  Grantaire asked slowly. 

“This whole thing…I mean he seemed into it, we were fucking kissing on his bed, for god’s sake.” 

“His bed?” 

“Marius brought Cosette to the party, and I sort of retreated there.  When the clock changed, we could hear everyone in the other room celebrate, and I kissed him, and we kept kissing, but when I asked him to fuck me, he just backed away and drove me home.  We hardly even said anything on the drive…and, GOD, I just wanted to feel like someone wanted me tonight, for fuck’s sake.” 

Grantaire felt like he was going to be sick.  _Do you know how many men would like to be with you?  I would, if you weren’t like my sister…_   He opened his mouth, but Enjolras pulled the girl into his arms. 

“Eponine, I don’t think you quite understand Combeferre.” 

She shoved at him, pushing from his embrace.  “Well, obviously not, since he’s giving me such mixed signals–” 

“They’re not mixed.  Not really–” 

“Yes, they are–” 

“Look, I’ve known ‘Ferre a lot longer than you.  He’s not–well, from what I’ve seen, he doesn’t fool around.  Like, less than I do.  Courfeyrac fools around, when he’s not with someone.  Marius usually trips over himself, but has had a hook up or two.  I occasionally need a release, because contrary to what this guy seems to think,” he tapped Grantaire on the shoulder, “I’m only human.  Combeferre doesn’t do that.  He doesn’t kiss people he doesn’t care about, and he definitely doesn’t have sex with people he’s not dating.” 

“So, what’s that supposed to mean…?” Eponine mumbled glumly. 

“I think–well, if I know ‘Ferre, like I think I do, and he’s my best friend, so I should, the fact that you kissed means, he really likes you.  But, no matter what he thinks of you, he wasn’t going to have sex, not like that.” 

“Like ‘that’?”  Eponine quoted, raising an eyebrow. 

“What he means, is that Combeferre really probably likes you,” Grantaire cut in.  Eponine smiled slightly, “But, sex was rushing things–” 

“For, fuck’s sake, we were hooking up, not getting married!” 

“Maybe, he doesn’t want to hook up, ‘Ponine, did you ever think about that?”  He reached out and took her hand. 

Eponine remained silent, and Enjolras tentatively asked, “Would you like to date Combeferre?” 

“What–I–well–I don’t–I don’t know…he’s sweet, and he’s cute and all, but I mean…I really like Marius…” 

“Marius has a girlfriend now, hon.”  Grantaire squeezed her shoulder. 

“I know…” 

“And, you deserve someone who likes you.  Someone who cares about you the same way you care about him.  Think about it.” 

“I still don’t know if he really likes me.  He was the one who pulled away.” 

Grantaire reasoned, “He wanted to make sure you didn’t regret anything.  You had been drinking–” 

“I was completely coherent!  I had like one drink!” 

“You nearly tripped on your way to your bedroom…” Grantaire pointed out. 

“I may have enjoyed a flask on the way home, but that was after!” 

“Still, he was trying to be careful.”

“Ugh, stupid boys.”  She groaned, but she was no longer crying, and Grantaire took that as a triumph. 

The three sat in silence for a few moments more, before Eponine excused herself to go to sleep. 

“Want to move to the bed?”  Grantaire mumbled against Enjolras’s shoulder. 

“Probably a good choice.”  He agreed. 

So, they did, settling under Grantaire’s warm blankets, in each other’s arms.


	19. Chapter 19

When the sun started peeking through the blinds, hitting Grantaire squarely in the eyes, he groaned, turning over to burrow against Enjolras’s chest.  The blond held him tighter, eyes still closed.  Grantaire smiled softly, looking at the sharp features, relaxed with sleep.  He reached his neck up to kiss him softly. 

Enjolras’s bright eyes fluttered open.  He blinked sleep away and returned the shy look.  He pressed his nose against Grantaire’s, “Good morning.” 

“First morning of the new year.”  _And all that may happen in it…_  

“Yeah…” Enjolras grinned and firmly kissed Grantaire’s lips. 

They’re moment was broken by a very cheery, “Grantaire, dearest, get up we’re–oh, well…” 

Grantaire and Enjolras nearly gave themselves concussions sitting up, noticing Jehan at the door.  They hadn’t had sex the night before, so they were clothed, but it was still a shock, especially as Courfeyrac came from behind Jehan, asking, “What is it?” 

“Hello, Courfeyrac…” Enjolras muttered. 

“Enjy!  You’re here!  When did you get in?”  Courfeyrac strode into the bedroom, paying very little heed to Jehan, Enjolras, and Grantaire’s protest. 

“Last night.”  Obviously, trying to make Courfeyrac leave the room.  Jehan understood and grinned, but the poet’s boyfriend remained oblivious. 

“And, you didn’t come to my party?!  I am wounded!”  He questioned, histrionically. 

“I wanted to spend a night in with my boyfriend, Courf.” 

Courfeyrac glanced from Grantaire to Enjolras and smirked with glee.  “Ah, yes!  Well, we’ll leave you two lovebirds alone, then!”  He stood smoothly and wrapped an arm around Jehan, guiding him out of the room.  “Proceed, then.” 

Jehan erupted into giggles, “We’ll be making breakfast, if you want any.”  He announced, as they left. 

“I expect to hear you two screwing like rabbits!”  Courfeyrac called, already down the hall. 

Enjolras pressed his face into Grantaire’s shoulder.  “I wouldn’t mind morning sex, but I don’t think I could do anything, when I know he’s listening.” 

“No problem, I understand.”  Grantaire agreed. 

“Those two…” Enjolras sighed. 

After a pause, Grantaire whispered, “Do you ever wish we were like them?” 

“Huh?” 

“Like Courfeyrac and Jehan…they’re just so…” 

“Perfect?”  Enjolras supplied. 

“Yeah…” Grantaire felt a little twinge in his chest.  _I know we aren’t perfect, not like them, or Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta, but still, I–_  

“No.”  Enjolras stopped Grantaire’s train of thought, “I don’t wish we were like them.  I mean, they’re great together…but I couldn’t be like them, and you couldn’t either.  And, this, this is good.  Do you?  Wish we were like them?” 

Grantaire felt himself break into a silly grin, “Never.”  He turned to kiss his Apollo again.  They laid back down and held each other for a few more minutes. 

“NOT HEARING ENOUGH SEX!”  Courfeyrac shouted from the next room. 

“He means breakfast is ready!”  Jehan insisted. 

Enjolras laughed, and Grantaire could indeed smell bacon wafting from the kitchen.  They finally got up and dressed.

They all sat on the floor around the coffee table in the living room.  Eponine came from her room.  “Hey!  Jehan, Courfeyrac, when’d you get here?” 

“Just about an hour ago.”  Courfeyrac answered around a mouthful of toast.  He swallowed, “I took advantage of an empty room last night to have some fun with my dearest one, here.”  He nudged a very red Jehan, who still smiled at him. 

“Empty?”  Grantaire asked. 

“Well, Marius went home with Cosette, and you were here.” 

“Wait, what about Combeferre?”  Eponine, suddenly looked concerned. 

“Not sure.  Actually, I expected him to be here.”  He not-so-subtly winked at Eponine.  “He may have gone to Joly’s.  He does that when he needs to talk.  Among the three of them, Joly, Bossuet, or Musichetta, one of them has to have an answer.  Especially, since ‘Ferre’s usually the one we all go to.  Heaven knows, none of the rest of us give can give advice for shit.” 

“Huh…” Eponine frowned.  She stood to get a plate for herself.  She set it on the table, but then disappeared to her room.  The men at the table shrugged, once she seemed not to be coming back. 

After a couple servings of bacon and eggs, the doorbell rang.  Jehan floated over and opened it.  “‘Ferre!”  He exclaimed. 

Enjolras stood.  “Is everything okay?  Why are you here?” 

The man looked at the others seated around the living room.  “I–well, Eponine asked if I could come, so–” He caught sight of the girl coming back down the hall.  “Oh, hey, Eponine, are things alri–Ow!”  Combeferre’s hand went to his face, where Eponine had slapped him. 

She now stood, fiercely looking at him, with her hands on her hips.  Everyone else in the room wore a look of shock. 

“I’m sorry…?”  He attempted 

“Do you know why you’re apologizing?”  She demanded. 

“Well–I…no, not really.  Care to enlighten me?”  He finally straightened fully. 

“In a minute.  That was for one of two reasons, and I’m not sure which yet.”  She snapped. 

Combeferre nodded slowly. 

“Option one: If you don’t like me, and you kept kissing me last night, even though you know you didn’t want me, and won’t ever want me, that’s for leading me on, you fucking asshole.” 

Grantaire had to resist snorting at Combeferre’s sputtering and look of shock. 

“Option two: If you do like me, and you backed away, because you thought I would regret it, or whatever.  Stop.  I am not some delicate fucking flower.  I appreciate that you would look for consent, and all, but I asked you!  If I was incoherent or drunk, yes, you should stop, but I had one drink, and I was very clear that I wanted you!  If you had your own personal objections, then tell me!  Don’t just mysteriously pull away and say, ‘Come on, I’ll take you home’!  If you had doubts, then you can talk about them, but don’t you dare think you need to protect me!  I have never once regretted a hookup in my life.  I’m not proud of all of them, but I wanted all of them at the time.  I am perfectly capable of making my own decisions, and I don’t need your righteous attitude, thinking I can’t make that choice by myself!  You are not allowed to tell me what or who I want, is that understood?” 

Combeferre gaped at her, but quietly said, “Yes.” 

“Good.  Now, that that’s out of the way, do you want to date me?”  She asserted, a no nonsense look across her face. 

After a beat, Combeferre smiled, “Yes, I do.” 

“Okay, then sit down, and have breakfast with the rest of these happy couples,” she waved vaguely at Grantaire, Enjolras, Jehan, and Courfeyrac, “And tonight, we can check out a movie or something.” 

Combeferre laughed heartily, grinning a bit like a fool, “Okay, sure.”  He sat down, as Courfeyrac handed him an extra plate, and he began to serve himself bacon, eggs, and toast. 

Grantaire smiled, when he saw Eponine take Combeferre’s hand in her own.


	20. Chapter 20

For months, things went about as usual.  Jehan and Courfeyrac were painfully romantic and slightly diabetes-inducing, and everyone watched as Eponine and Combeferre slowly inched towards a relationship.  The one time Grantaire walked in on Eponine straddling Combeferre on their couch, both flushing pink, with the philosopher’s glasses dangerously askew on his nose, he grinned and winked before excusing himself to let them resume their activities. 

Enjolras protested, doing his best to save the world. 

Grantaire watched him.  He stood in the crowd at each rally, which, _thanking whatever powers may or may not exist,_ did not turn violent, as they had that one time before.  He cheered, though he didn’t believe, all the while wishing that he could. 

It was pointless, every fight they fought, but he kept going, because after his speech, every so often, he saw Enjolras seeking for his face in the crowd and smile when their eyes met.  And, that was a high, he had never experienced. 

And, if the post-protest sex was almost always mind-blowing, well, that was a plus, too. 

It was late in March, at about 11:30 p.m., when Grantaire received a cryptic text from Enjolras. 

 _Are you busy?_  

He quickly texted back a negative. 

The response came almost immediately: 

 _Come over, please, now._  

Grantaire threw on his coat and ran outside.  Hurriedly he texted: 

 _On my way.  What’s up?_  

 _Just come._ Came the response. 

Grantaire bit his lip, as he urged the metro to move faster.  Reaching the stop, he half-sprinted the couple of block’s to Enjolras’s apartment.  He knocked insistently on the door.  “Enj, it’s me, open up.” 

He nearly fell into the apartment, when the door opened suddenly.  He righted himself, to see Enjolras’s fiery eyes.  “Hey, love, what is–” Grantaire tentively reached for Enjolras, when the other man grabbed him, pulling into a hard kiss. 

Instinctively, he responded, clutching Enjolras’s gold curls in his hands.  He let Enjolras guide him to the bedroom, and gently press him to the bed and settling on top of him.  “Enj?” 

The blond looked down, “Hmm?”  The first sound the revolutionary made that night. 

“Are you alright?”  Grantaire reached up, brushing his hand along Enjolras’s cheek. 

Enjolras gave no answer.  Instead, he leaned down and kissed Grantaire, deeply, tongue working against his, causing Grantaire to gasp and moan, and forget his own name, any name other than _Enjolras_. 

Enjolras asked, “Please?” as he began to unbutton Grantaire’s coat, which he hadn’t even taken the time to remove. 

Grantaire gasped, “Of course.” 

That night, when Enjolras took him deeply and slowly, his hands and mouth moving over every inch of him, as if trying to memorize him.  It was overwhelming… 

_…Desperate, maybe…?_

* * *

The next morning, Enjolras’s arms were so tightly wrapped around Grantaire’s chest, that the dark-haired man needed to pull away to completely breathe. 

He chuckled slightly, as he turned to look Enjolras in the face.  The blond still slept.  He ran a hand through Enjolras’s hair, which caused the man to stir.  Blue-grey eyes blinked open. 

There was a short pause, before Grantaire whispered, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”  He leaned forward to gently kiss Enjolras. 

“It’s fine.”  Enjolras replied, equally quiet, intensely staring at Grantaire. 

Grantaire furrowed his brow, “So, not that I mind, but why did you call me over here?  I mean, fantastic sex is a viable answer, but I never thought of you as the booty call type of guy.”  He smirked, but all humor dropped, as Enjolras stared blankly in front of him.  “Enj…what…?” 

Instead of answering, Enjolras kissed him deeply, pulling Grantaire against him. 

When he released him, Grantaire felt dazed.  “Enj?” 

Slowly, he spoke, “I got the job…” 

“The-the job?  The one you interviewed for?”  Grantaire propped himself on one elbow. 

“Yes.” 

Grantaire broke into a grin.  He leaned forward, “I’m so happy for you!”  He pressed his lips against Enjolras’s, but pulled back quickly, when Enjolras didn’t respond.  “What is it?” 

“It’s in New York…based in New York.”  Enjolras wasn’t looking him in the eye anymore. 

“I don’t underst–” Grantaire froze.  _Oh…_  

“Yes.” 

“You’re leaving me.”  Grantaire suddenly found it very hard to breathe.  He rolled onto his back. 

“I’ll move back to New York after graduation.  Early June.” 

“June…” 

“‘Taire, please.”  Enjolras pulled him closer, pressing his lips to Grantaire’s shoulder.  “It’s a few months.  Can’t we just enjoy the time we have?” 

Grantaire stiffened, feeling ill.  “Enjoy it?  You expect me to enjoy any time we have, when each minute is just a minute closer to losing you?”  _Am I the only one who would dread that moment?_  

“Grantaire…” 

“Why didn’t you tell me last night?”  He asked pointedly.  He was going to throw up, he was sure. 

“I…I tried.  I was going to.  When I texted you, it was to celebrate, but then…then I thought about leaving, for real, and I couldn’t say anything.  I just couldn’t talk about it, and…” 

“And?” 

“I let actions express what words could not…” 

Grantaire laughed bitterly, “And you thought it would be easier to talk about it after you’ve fucked me?”  He sat up in the bed. 

“Grantaire–” Enjolras took hold of Grantaire’s arm. 

“Sex instead in place of conversation?  Because that really makes me more of a whore than anything, though given our history, I don’t suppose, I’m surprised–”  He stood, starting to put on his pants as quickly as possible with his shaking hands. 

Enjolras grimaced, a snarl almost overwhelming his face.  “Grantaire, why is it always about sex with you?” 

The photographer almost choked, fumbling with the buttons on his shirt.  “What else would it be?” 

“Grantaire!”  Enjolras’s eyes widened. 

“What?  What could you want from a hopeless drunk, like me?”  He tried to force back the hot tears stinging his eyes.

“You’re not a drunk–” 

“But, I am hopeless?” 

“No, no, Grantaire, you can’t think– For god’s sake, I–”

“What?”  Grantaire snapped. 

Enjolras shouted.  “I love you, you idiot!  You can’t possibly believe that what we have is only physical.  For god’s sake!  Do you think this is easy for me to say…” 

Grantaire hardly heard a word.  He fell against the wall and started laughing hysterically. 

“What–what is…what is it?” 

After sliding to the floor, Grantaire covered his face with his hands, breath hitching.  “Do you realize, that’s the first time you’ve said that you loved me?” 

There was a long pause, as Enjolras stood stunned.  Finally, he said, “No…that’s not–that can’t be–I must have–” 

Grantaire blindly reached for his jacket, “Well, it’s not entirely true.  You once said you loved your _causes_ with all your heart.”  He smiled up at his Apollo, “I guess now we know, really, what I am.”  He zipped up his jacket and stumbled out of the bedroom. 

Enjolras had managed to pull on his boxers and followed him.  “Grantaire, please, you can’t possibly believe that.” 

He rounded on Enjolras, “Apollo, my dear love…” Enjolras looked ill, “You know I believe in nothing.”  Grantaire grinned, with no joy whatsoever, bowing deeply, before turning to leave the apartment. 

Enjolras caught his arm, and pulled Grantaire to him, “No.  No, you don’t mean that–” 

“What should I mean then, Apollo?  That there is something good in this world?  That I think you could love me?”  _I could never be so presumptuous._  

“Grantaire, I do love you.  You must know–” 

“Then why have you never said anything?”  He pushed away from Enjolras, “I have loved you almost as long as I’ve known you, and I worshipped you before that.  I have given you opportunity after opportunity to say you loved me, and you have said nothing.  What proof have I had, that I’ve been anything more than a long-term hookup?” 

“No, no–I can’t–you must–” Enjolras stammered.  He finally grasped at Grantaire’s hand, clutching it tightly. 

“Stop it!”  Grantaire sobbed.  He turned to Enjolras, who lifted his hand to brush the tears from Grantaire’s cheek, but he flinched, ducking his face away from Enjolras’s gentle fingers.  “Stop pretending we have a future, like this means anything to you.” 

“It does.  _You_ do.  Grantaire, I love you.” 

“If you did, you would have said something last night.” 

“You need to believe me.” 

“Why?  Your golden speeches have never once roused me.  Why should I believe your passionate cry, now, for such an unworthy cause?” 

Enjolras’s eyes went wide.  He suddenly looked very lost.  “You don’t–?  But, you said–you said–” 

“I believe in you.  I believe in your power to lead a revolution.  I believe that you can inspire the world to rise, but you will never make me believe that such a revolution will succeed.  I would join a revolution, because you lead it, but I never delude myself with the actual fight itself.  You, for all your talent and beautiful words, will never make me believe.”  His voice became very even, very matter of fact.  As he looked into Enjolras’s hurt eyes, he thought, _I’ve never realized the extent of my own cruelty, until this moment…Apollo, just let me go._  

As if he heard his thoughts, Enjolras released Grantaire’s hand.  “‘Aire…” he whimpered, rubbing at the tears on his own face, with the heel of his palm. 

Grantaire took advantage of Enjolras’s shock _–heartbreak?_ – and turned on his heel, nearly running out of Enjolras’s apartment. 

He was about halfway down the block, when he heard Enjolras screaming his name.  His name in the broken voice of his god caused him to hyperventilate.  In a flash, tears began streaming down his face, as he tried with no success to even his breathing. 

On the metro, he earned many concerned looks, but he ignored the attempts of strangers asking if he was alright. 

Once he got off the train, before heading back, he made a short detour to the corner liquor store.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, then I made everything fall apart, because I can't leave well enough alone.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has commented/left kudos, it means a lot to me!


	21. Chapter 21

By the time Grantaire reached home, Enjolras had called him and texted him seven times.  He collapsed on the couch and took a shot of vodka for each message in quick succession.  He winced…he hadn’t taken shots in so long… 

He looked at the messages: 

 _Grantaire, please, come back._  

 _Please, dearest, just talk to me._  

 _‘Aire, I do love you.  Please, just call me._  

And so on… 

The burn was overwhelming, heat rose up his neck to his ears.  Another notification came from his phone.  It read, _I’m sorry,_ and he downed another shot of vodka.  His head began to spin; he really had lost most of his tolerance. 

His phone chimed again.  He turned it off.  Now, drinking from the bottle. 

He looked at the clock.  It wasn’t even noon.  A derisive laugh escaped his mouth. 

Half an hour later, when Jehan got home for his lunch break, he gasped.  His hand went to cover his mouth.  A perfect picture of terror. 

“Grantaire, darling…” He ventured carefully. 

“Yes, Jehan?”  He mocked the honey sweet tones of the poet’s voice, leaning forward, with his forearms on his knees. 

Jehan was about to respond, when Eponine burst through the door.  “‘Aire, what the hell, I’ve been calling you for twenty–shit…” 

Grantaire looked up at her face, “Sorry, my phone’s off.”  He mumbled.  He pulled out his phone and turned it on, before tossing it onto the table.  It rang with about eight more messages, about half of them from Eponine.  In response to the calls, he reached for the bottle of vodka again.  Eponine swiped it. 

“No!” 

“Eponine!”  He cried out reaching for it, as she walked away. 

“No, not until you tell us what’s going on!” 

Rubbing at his temples with his fingers, he groaned.  He opened his mouth when his ringtone went off. 

Jehan looked at the phone, “It’s Enjolras.” 

Grantaire stared, while Jehan held the phone to him. 

“Grantaire, sweetheart, aren’t you going to answer it?”  Jehan inquired cautiously. 

After another pause, Grantaire grabbed the phone, unlocking it and holding it to his ear.  He tried to say something but words died in his throat. 

“‘Aire?”  He heard on the other end, “Are you there?” 

Grantaire remained silent. 

“Grantaire, look I’m sorry.  Can we just–I love–…shit, you’re not even there, are you?  Fuck, I…fuck.”  The line went silent.  Grantaire dropped his arm. 

He reached for the vodka and drank deeply from it, once he had acquired it from a protesting Eponine.  He set the half empty handle on the table, before he spun on his heel, and strode down the hall. 

Jehan tried to follow him, but he slammed the door in the little poet’s face and locked the door. 

Breathing heavily, he fell onto the bed, curling into a ball and trying not to cry.

* * *

Somehow, he didn’t wake again until the next day.  The clock read 11:00, and sun filtered through his window.  He wondered how he had slept for so long.  Checking himself in the mirror, he shuddered.  Red circles lined his eyes, and his face was pale.  Dark stubble contrasted against his cheek.  He stumbled out of his room, and Eponine and Jehan jumped up. 

“Don’t do that!  Don’t you ever lock that door again!”  Eponine shouted. 

“What?” 

“You locked your fucking bedroom door!  We couldn’t get in.” 

“That was the point…” He grumbled. 

“Grantaire, when you’re that upset, at least give us a way to check on you.”  Jehan insisted gently.  “Please?  We were scared.” 

“I’m fine…” 

“Yes, but we couldn’t tell.  We couldn’t hear you.  We were afraid…” Jehan trailed off, looking to Eponine, before ducking his head. 

"I wanted to break down the door."  Eponine snapped. 

Grantaire ignored her, and instead reached out and mussed Jehan’s long hair, causing a flower tucked behind his ear to fall to the floor.  "Grantaire–" Jehan whimpered. 

“Everything will be fine, little one.”  He reiterated. 

Jehan protested, as Grantaire shuffled to the kitchen, pouring himself coffee, from the pot Eponine must have made that morning before she went to work, as it was freezing.  He poured a shot of vodka into it, as he didn’t have whiskey.

A knock came from the door.  Grantaire froze, as he heard Eponine answer it. 

“‘Ferre, babe, what’s up?” 

“Where’s Grantaire?”  Grantaire choked, when he heard his name. 

“Here.”  Grantaire announced, as confidently as possible, which was not very, making himself visible from the kitchen.  He faltered, as he saw Combeferre.  The philosopher’s mouth was pressed into a tight line, and his jaw clenched. 

“This is from E.”  Combeferre handed Grantaire a piece of notebook paper, folded into a small square. 

“What is–” Eponine began, but Combeferre cut her off, guiding her gently out the front door, leaving Grantaire with the note and Jehan. 

The poet looked at him. 

Slowly, Grantaire unfolded the note. 

 _Dearest Grantaire,_  

 _I wanted to talk to you, but you won’t answer my calls or texts, and I can’t really blame you for it, so I’m just going to hope you read this._  

 _I’m sorry.  So sorry.  For so many things._  

 _First of all, I’m sorry I never told you that I loved you.  It isn’t an excuse, but I guess I never realized that I hadn’t.  I felt love, and I just figured you understood.  I thought I had said it, or said something that meant it, so I guess I just never did, because I thought it had been done.  I apologize._  

 _Secondly, for how I treated you last night.  I should have been honest._  

 _And, finally, for trying to drag this out.  As enjoyable as our time has been, and as much as I wish I could enjoy my last couple months with you, I realize a clean break would be easier for us both.  It isn’t fair to go on with this relationship, when there is a time limit.  I’m sorry I thought this was better._  

 _I love you.  I do.  Even with all the mistakes I made, please, believe this._  

 _Please, keep in touch.  I will miss you.  Thank you._  

 _I am so sorry it had to end this way.  I never planned for this._  

_With all my heart,_

_Enjolras_  

Combeferre and Eponine reentered the room, as Grantaire finished the letter.  As he read the final words, Grantaire felt sobs wash over his body, nausea threatening to overwhelm him.  His breath hitched and very soon, he was wheezing, breathing hard with tears streaming down his cheeks.  He collapsed onto the coffee table, his elbows resting on his knees, and his hands over his face as his shoulders shook. 

“Oh god, sweetheart…” He felt Jehan’s arms around him, and Eponine’s hands on his knee. 

“‘Taire, hon…” 

He heard a groan from the door.  “Jesus Christ…this isn’t right.”  The door slammed, as Combeferre left. 

Eponine and Jehan tried to soothe him, as he cried in their living room, but he wished they would leave, so his itching fingers could reach for a drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made it worse. I'm sorry.


	22. Chapter 22

For weeks, Jehan would ask, “I’m going to the café tonight.  Do you want to join me, dear?” 

And Grantaire would stare into space, shake his head, and reply, “No, thank you, Jehan.” 

The poet was sometimes more insistent, attempting to pull the photographer off the couch, but Grantaire would turn and curl in on himself, and eventually, Jehan would leave, and Grantaire would finish a bottle or two of wine. 

Months passed in a blur of alcoholic haze.   

Grantaire mentally marked when May 20th rolled around.  It was the date of graduation for Courfeyrac, Marius, Bossuet, Joly, Combeferre and Enjolras.  They held a party, to which Grantaire was invited, though he decided not to attend. 

A few days later, he called Jehan aside.  “Jehan, what are you and Courf doing tonight?” 

“Uh, I’m not sure.  Did you have anything in mind, sweetheart?”  Jehan looked him over cautiously. 

Silently, Grantaire went to his room and came back with the two theatre tickets for _The Illusion_ , “I’m not going to use these.  Knock yourself out.” 

Jehan protested, as Grantaire walked away.  He wasn’t sure if Jehan and Courfeyrac ended up going.

* * *

The next two weeks were rough. 

It was true that Grantaire had been avoiding Enjolras for the past few months, and even more so in the last few weeks, but now, he knew Enjolras was leaving.  He knew the date, when Enjolras would be out of his apartment, and that made everything much worse.  When the day came and went, Grantaire acknowledged it by going to a local bar, getting wasted, and hooking up with a blond, blue-eyed stranger.  He then did the same thing again and again each night. 

Eponine was moody, because Combeferre moved to New York with Enjolras.  They promised to try the long-distance thing, and honestly, Eponine seemed comfortable with it, but it was still difficult. 

And, Jehan…was busy.  He and Courfeyrac had decided to move in together, and now that Courfeyrac had graduated, the two of them were in and out of the apartment packing all the time. 

Grantaire watched them and swallowed hard. 

Jehan laughed and smiled, as Courfeyrac picked up Jehan’s flowered sweaters, or danced around the room with some of Jehan’s books, sometimes doing dramatic readings of the poetry contained in them.  Every so often, he would lift the poet off the ground and spin or carry him to other locations.  The night Jehan was to move out, this led to moans coming from the bedroom.  Grantaire immediately left the apartment. 

He marched to a local bar, instantaneously ordering his usual rum and coke.  He drained the glass and ordered a second and a third for good measure. 

After his fourth drink, he caught the eye of a young woman at the end of the bar. 

She was tall and thin, with curly blond hair, sharp jaw and cheekbones, and bright blue eyes.  He smiled at her, and she smiled back. 

He ordered her another of whatever she had, so she sidled over and they began talking.  Her voice was altogether wrong, but Grantaire ordered himself another drink.  With a few more shots, he could be persuaded to ignore it.

* * *

He stumbled into his apartment laughing with the girl.  When he finally hit the light, he nearly jumped, because Eponine was sitting on the couch, glaring at him.  His brain may have been a bit foggy, but he knew that look anywhere. 

“Hey, ‘Ponine!” 

“Where have you been?” 

“Bar!  This is Kelli, with an ‘I’.”  He wrapped his arm more tightly around Kelli’s waist.  She giggled.  He wished she hadn’t.  He kissed her, and she responded eagerly.  He could just ignore her bubblegum flavored lip gloss. 

“Uh-huh, ‘Kelli with an I,’ it’s great to meet you,” Eponine pulled them apart, “Now, leave.”  Her arms were crossed across her chest. 

Grantaire frowned.  Kelli raised an eyebrow and asked, “Excuse me, and who are you?”  She looked at Grantaire. 

He smiled easily, “Ha.  No one, babe.  Just my roommate.”  He glared at Eponine, as he wrapped an arm around Kelli’s shoulder, beginning to pull her towards the bedroom. 

“Ha!  Yes, which means, I have the right to kick you out.”  Eponine blocked their way. 

“Eponine!”  Grantaire stepped closer to her, threateningly. 

“What the fuck?”  Kelli asked. 

“Nothing.  Ignore her.”  He reached his hand to her. 

“Please, don’t.”  Jehan stepped from the hall.  _Where the hell had he even been?_  

“Who are you?”  Kelli looked terrified at the moment. 

“His other roommate.” 

“Actually, didn’t you move out today?”  Grantaire snarled. 

Jehan didn’t answer, but stepped to Kelli, “Honey, we’re very sorry, but it would really be best, if you left.” 

Kelli looked less like she wanted to scream, “Yeah, fine, whatever. ‘Taire, if you want, we can go to go to my place.” 

“Yeah, sure…”  He moved to the door, to be stopped by Jehan grabbing his arm. 

“No.” 

“Excuse me!”  Grantaire screamed. 

Kelli shrieked at Eponine, _and well, wasn’t that an unattractive sound…_ “What are you?  His fucking mom?” 

“Okay, that’s it, bitch, you’re going.”  Eponine said, as she bodily picked up Kelli and set her, still screaming, outside on the landing of the stairs. 

“It’s fine, sweetheart, I’ll wait with you, until you can get a cab.”  Jehan quickly joined her outside, and shut the door. 

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?”  Grantaire rounded on Eponine. 

In a voice to match, she shouted, “I’M NOT LETTING YOU DO THIS TO YOURSELF ANYMORE!” 

“THE FUCK?” 

“DO YOU EVEN SEE WHAT’S GOING ON?  Do you even see what you’re doing?”  Her voice lowered, but lost none of its intensity.  “‘Taire, you need to see it…” 

“See what?”  He didn’t look at her, opting to get a beer from the fridge. 

When he came back out, Eponine grabbed the bottle from his hands, causing it to shatter against the floor… _like when Enjolras had grabbed his flask that night in the café…_  

“EPONINE!” 

“Stop it.  Stop this!” 

“What?  Drinking?  We’ve tried that before…” he snapped. 

“I–yes, that, but just, this whole thing!  The skipping work–” 

“What are you getting at?” 

“You’ve skipped about half of your assignments, and I can’t keep covering for you!  And, this whole thing!”  She waved at the door. 

“What?  Kelli?” 

“All these hookups!” 

“Excuse me, Ep, I’m not in a relationship, I can bring home whoever I like!” 

“But they all fucking look like Enjolras!” 

He sputtered, “I–what–no–fuck you…” 

“If we go to a bar together, I can absolutely call who you’re going to go home with, because they all have the same blonde curly hair and the jaw or the eyes!” 

“I don’t–that’s not–it’s–” 

“The first time it happened, I thought it was a coincidence, your way of getting over him, but you’re not getting over him!  You won’t sleep with someone, unless he or she almost looks like Enjolras, but then, the minute you sober up, and they talk the next day, and you realize whoever isn’t actually him, you kick them out, and go off to find the next look alike, and it’s terrifying!  How many times have you said the wrong name when you were with one of these people?” 

_More than once, usually not loudly though…_ “Never!  You’re crazy!” 

“The feelings of those people aside, it’s not healthy!  You can’t keep doing this.” 

“What?  So I have a type, that’s completely normal!”  He shrugged, backing away. 

“It’s not just a type, it’s a substitution…” Jehan came in from the landing.  He looked to Eponine.  “Kelli is safely in a cab, on her way home.” 

“Jehan,” Grantaire smirked, “Why are you here?  Shouldn’t you be in your new apartment, christening every flat surface?”  He winked. 

Jehan sighed, “Yes, I should…” Grantaire frowned, “But, I wasn’t going to leave, when you’re like this.” 

Grantaire’s jaw clenched.  _Do I ruin everything for everyone, then?  Sorry…_  

Jehan stepped across the room in two steps, winding his arms tightly around Grantaire.  Grantaire found himself sobbing into the shoulder of Jehan’s shirt. 

“Oh, ‘Taire…sweetheart…” 

“I’m so sorry…”  He mumbled to the poet.  He felt Eponine come up and take his hand, giving it a squeeze. 

“It’s fine, love, but we can’t just sit here and watch you destroy yourself.  Take care of yourself.  We love you.  It’ll get better.”  Jehan murmured to him. 

_I doubt that_ , he thought to himself, though he said, “Okay, I’ll try…”


	23. Chapter 23

It was slow progress.  Eventually, Eponine dragged Grantaire back to work.  By necessity, he stopped drinking to excess.  And, though sobriety did nothing to lessen the overwhelming hole in his chest, it was good to be at work.  The photos he took helped, distracted him, so the heartache as only apparent at night. 

Sometimes Eponine would find him curled in a ball on their couch.  She would wrap her harms around him.  Grantaire felt guilty in those instances and would change the subject. 

_“So, when was the last time you talked to ‘Ferre?”_  

_“We skyped a couple days ago…”_  

That would make him smile.  It thrilled him to see Eponine happy, even though he knew she missed Combeferre.  They seemed to be handling the distance well. 

He drank, but he was functioning.  And, though most of his hookups still had blond hair and blue eyes, he tried to make such encounters less frequent. 

Jehan helped.  Every so often, he and Courfeyrac would drop by.  And, the poet usually had cookies for him. 

Eventually, he fell into a comfortable, and nearly healthy routine. 

And months went by that way… 

And, then he saw a post on Courfeyrac’s Facebook wall. 

_Enjolras > Courfeyrac_

_‘Ferre and I will be back in the District in a couple weeks.  Any chance I could crash on your couch?_  

Courfeyrac and Jehan had responded: 

_Courfeyrac > Enjolras_

_Absolutely, brah!  I can’t wait to see you, man!_

     Jehan: _Dearest, you do realize “brah” isn’t actually a word, right?_

     Courfeyrac: _C’mon, you love my colorful syntax!_

     Jehan: _I can love you, and simultaneously shake my head at your syntax._

     Courfeyrac: _Can you now?_

     Jehan: _Is that a challenge?_

     Courfeyrac: _It might be…_

     Enjolras: _Don’t you two live together, now?  DO YOU NEED TO FLIRT ON FACEBOOK?_

     Jehan: _Of course we must flirt over Facebook.  We must flirt always!_

     Courfeyrac: _I love you so much! *kisses*_

     Enjolras: _Maybe, I don’t want to crash on your couch…_

     Courfeyrac: _Too late!_

     Jehan: _We’ll be delighted to have you!_  

As soon as he had finished reading this exchange, Eponine burst from her room to the living room.  “Combeferre is going to be staying with us for a week.” 

“I figured as much…”  He sighed checking a notification. 

Courfeyrac had invited him to:  _A Night of Reunion and Revelry! (Jehan came up with the name)_  

“Are you going?”  Eponine asked, suddenly over his shoulder. 

“I…” Grantaire hesitated. 

“You should.” 

“You want me at a party?  With alcohol?”  He raised an eyebrow. 

“I want you to actually get out of the house.  Have fun.  Socialize with people who love you.  And, you’ve been doing better, and I’ll be there to make sure you don’t get out of hand.”  She squeezed his shoulder. 

“Enjolras will be there.”  He intoned. 

“Well, it’s a party for him and ‘Ferre, I’d assume so.”  She reasoned, though he saw a glint of worry in her eyes. 

“I don’t know…”  He mumbled. 

Swallowing hard, she said, “Well, think about it.”

* * *

In the end, he decided he would go.  Mostly, because Jehan sounded like he would be broken-hearted if Grantaire didn’t show up. 

When he walked through the door, Jehan immediately jumped into his arms.  Half screaming, “You’re here!  You’re really here!” 

Once Courfeyrac pried Jehan off Grantaire, he gave Grantaire a cheery hug and greeting.  In turn, Musichetta gave him a kiss, while Bossuet hugged him and Joly shook his hand, before sanitizing it.  Marius hugged him, and introduced his girlfriend Cosette.  She was very pretty.  She didn’t ooze sensuality, like Musichetta, but he could see why Marius compared her to sunshine and flowers.  It took him a moment to realize, that it had been months since he had seen many of these people in person.   

Bahorel thumped him hard on the back, nearly causing him to choke on air.  Feuilly handed him a glass of water, as he coughed.  Each expressed how much they missed him. 

He smiled at Feuilly, “Thanks.  Anything stronger?”  He lifted his solo cup full of water. 

“Ah, yeah, in the kitchen.”  He motioned to where Bahorel was doing shots with Bossuet, while Joly looked on, in possible terror.  Grantaire ignored Feuilly’s briefly worried face. 

Grantaire mixed himself a strongish rum and coke, toasting Bahorel, who had almost certainly drunk Bossuet under the table.  It was an hour into the party, and the man was already leaning heavily on Joly and Musichetta for support.  As Grantaire moved to lean against a wall, the doorbell rang.  Courfeyrac ran over and opened the door to reveal Combeferre, who had an arm slung around Eponine’s shoulder. 

She was smiling like Grantaire hadn’t seen in a very long while.  When she caught his eye, she kissed Combeferre on the cheek and then ran to Grantaire to hug him. 

“So, good dinner?”  He asked her. 

“Yep!” 

She was about to continue, when Combeferre asked Courfeyrac, “Where’s E?” 

Jehan piped up, bringing in a bowl of chips and salsa, and setting it on the table, “We sent him to the mall.  We didn’t want to spoil the decorations for him.” 

Grantaire looked.  Lights hung from the walls, even though it was no where near Christmas.  A banner reading, “Welcome Home Ferre and Enj!” was displayed across a glass door, which led to a small balcony, where Jehan had potted sunflowers. 

“Well, shouldn’t he be back?”  Combeferre’s brow furrowed. 

“I got a text from him.”  Courfeyrac responded.  “He got into some ethics debate with one of the managers at the food court.  He’ll be here soon.” 

Grantaire felt his fingers twitch, tightening his grip on his cup.  He swallowed a large gulp.  Eponine put her hand on his arm and shot him a warning look.  He smiled at her, albeit a bit forcedly, “First drink, ‘Ponine, I’m fine.” 

With a nod, she relaxed, “Okay, but I’m watching you.” 

“I know.”  Leaning over, he nudged her shoulder.  “Now, get over there, and chill with that boy you’ve been missing.” 

She looked at him carefully, before giving his shoulder one last squeeze and flouncing to Combeferre in the kitchen. 

A sharp knock came from the door.  When Courfeyrac opened it, Enjolras immediately began spewing words, “Sorry, I’m late, but the managers at that mall are obviously incompetent, and know nothing about the rights of workers and–” 

Courfeyrac silenced Enjolras by placing a hand over the blond’s mouth. 

Jehan sidled next to Courfeyrac, “Enj, remember it’s a party, not a rally.” 

When Courfeyrac removed his hand, Grantaire could see a small smile playing at Apollo’s lips.  “Sorry, Courf,” Enjolras apologized, “You know how I get.” 

“Yes, I do, but I swear, if you start business tonight, I’ll–” 

“I won’t!”  Enjolras insisted, “I’ll be on my good behavior, I prom–” 

Grantaire’s heart stopped, as Enjolras’s glance fell on him. 

“I–I promise.”  Enjolras finished, still looking at Grantaire. 

The drunk did his best to hold the man’s gaze.  _Did you not expect me here?  Or did you just not want to see me?_   He took a quick sip of his drink. 

“Okay, guys, let’s get this party going!”  Courfeyrac shouted, which elicited cheers from Bahorel and Feuilly, and started music, which pumped through rather impressive speakers. 

Grantaire watched, as Courfeyrac pulled Jehan into the middle of the room, spinning him to begin dancing.  After a moment, Cosette dragged a tripping Marius out, and not one to be outdone, Eponine quickly did the same with Combeferre.  Bahorel danced frantically and enthusiastically on his own. 

“Hey…” 

Grantaire jumped, when he heard a voice by his ear.  He tried his best not to hyperventilate, looking into Enjolras’s eyes.  “Hello.” 

“I–uh–How are you?”  Enjolras’s voice was just audible over the loud music. 

“Fine.”  Grantaire nearly shouted over the music.  “You?” 

“Fine.”  He could barely be heard. 

There was a long beat.  Enjolras leaned against the wall next to Grantaire.  Grantaire took a few more swallows from his cup.  He felt Enjolras’s eyes on him, and he couldn’t help smiling.  _How much does it hurt, knowing you couldn’t save me?_  

“Look, I wanted to…” 

Grantaire lost the rest of Enjolras’s words to a rising bass beat.  He cocked his head in confusion. 

Enjolras’s face looked flushed.  He shook his head and walked away to Courfeyrac, pulling him away from a pouting Jehan.  Grantaire drained his drink and started towards the kitchen to make another.  On his way, the song changed, and Jehan stopped him, wrapping a hand around his arm, and pulling him towards the makeshift dance floor. 

“What the–Jehan?” 

“I promised Eponine, I’d look after you.” 

“It’s my second drink!” 

“Dance with me!”  The poet urged, and Grantaire half-heartedly agreed. 

He moved along with his former roommate for a few minutes, and he almost felt himself smile, when Jehan spun him.  But, then Jehan’s hand left his all too quickly, and he found himself nearly chest to chest with a wide-eyed Enjolras.  Glancing over Enjolras’s shoulder, it looked like Courfeyrac had pushed the poor man forward into him.  Grantaire shot Courfeyrac a look.  _If he doesn’t want to be this close to me, god, please, don’t humiliate me by forcing him._  

“Dance!”  A very drunk Bahorel shouted from the corner. 

Grantaire bristled.  He would have pulled away, but he met Enjolras’s gaze, and it was magnetic _as always_.  Staring into the grey-blue eyes, he took a shaky breath. 

“Do you permit it?” 

He asked almost without thinking. 

While the beat shook around him, Enjolras didn’t change his expression.  Grantaire nearly took a step back, _moment over_ , but then he felt Enjolras’s hand against his and gently pulled him closer.  Almost instinctively, he stepped into him.  Enjolras wrapped a light arm around his back, and they danced. 

Grantaire inhaled deeply, the scent of fabric softener from his shirt and heat of Enjolras chest against his and arms around him were dizzying. 

“You can dance…” A soft voice rustled in his ear, “I didn’t know.” 

“We never had the chance.” 

Grantaire felt fingers brush against his ear.  He snapped his head to look Enjolras.  The hand the came to rest on his neck felt like fire, and Grantaire leaned forward without a thought. 

“‘Aire…” 

They could kiss.  _They were so close…_  

A flash of light broke the bubble.   

_Fuck._  

Grantaire gasped and breathing hard pushed Enjolras away from him.  He stumbled backwards before turning to run. 

He bumped into Joly and Musichetta, and he may have knocked over Marius, as he sprinted out the door.


	24. Chapter 24

He hated Eponine for telling him he should go to the party.  _Eponine and Combeferre; Joly, Bossuet, and ‘Chetta, Jehan and Courfeyrac, and now Marius and Cosette?  And, then put me just out of reach of Enjolras.  How cruel can you be?_  

He hated Jehan and Courfeyrac for pushing Enjolras towards him.  _Isn’t it bad enough Enjolras left?  You need to force him closer, when he could only want to be farther from me?  I thought you two, out of everyone, would be kinder._  

He hated Enjolras for treating him with warmth.  _You don’t love me.  Why can’t you despise me or ignore me?  That would be so much easier to take.  Of all the pain…I can accept anything except charity._  

And, more than anything, he hated himself, for still loving that fiery god, who would never be within his reach.  _Why?  WhywhyWHY??  WHY DO YOU DO THIS TO YOURSELF?_  

Several chimes of messages rang from his phone, as he ran home.  He ignored them.  There was nothing that anyone he knew could want to say to him, which he could care about in the slightest. 

_Fuck them._  

_Fuck everything._  

He ran to his apartment.  Literally, once he got off the metro, he sprinted home, ignoring the burning exhaustion in his legs.  By the time he got home, he fumbled with his keys and stumbled, breathing hard, into his living room. 

He could hear blood pounding in his ears.  He wanted to throw up.  His hands shook.  He gulped for air as his breaths became more rapid and shallow.  After a moment, he fell to his knees and braced himself against the floor. 

“‘Aire…” A soft voice came from behind him. 

Grantaire quickly turned, still seated on the floor, to see Enjolras standing in his doorway, which in his haste, he forgot to close.  Quickly, he scrambled to his feet and roughly wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. 

“Yes, Apollo?”  His voice was rough with tears. 

“Can I come in?” 

“The door is open.”  Grantaire waved his arm, and with a sigh, Enjolras stepped into the apartment.  They regarded each other for a beat.  Then, Grantaire turned away from him and walked to the kitchen.  “Do you want tea?” 

“‘Aire, can we talk?” 

In frustration, Grantaire spun back around.  “What do we have to talk about?”  He demanded.  “What could there possibly be?” 

Enjolras’s eyes were wide and hurt.  He looked lost. 

“As I thought, nothing.  Now, if you could just go–” 

“Do you want a job?”  Enjolras blurted out the words, as Grantaire made to usher him out the door. 

“I’m sorry?” 

Enjolras’s fingers twitched.  He shuffled his feet and looked to the ground.  “A job…I’ve been talking to my supervisor, and we could use a photographer for the group, and you would have time for your own projects, and stuff, and…god, ‘Aire, please, come to New York.”  The words came out in a rush. 

Grantaire’s eyebrows shot up.  “What?” 

“Please, I’m just–I need you there.  I need you.  New York, I’ve been working, but I just–I can’t even–I haven’t been happy, since you left, and I just need you there.” 

Finally, Grantaire really looked at Enjolras.  He seemed thinner, and for some reason, Grantaire hadn’t noticed the dark circles under his eyes earlier.  Still, he was beautiful…but he looked so tired. 

Grantaire frowned.  “Have you been sleeping?” 

“I–I’ve been…busy.” 

“And, are you eating?” 

“Yes, of course…sometimes.” 

“Enjolras!” 

“I just forget, okay?” 

“Jesus Christ…” 

“‘Aire, don’t you see?  That’s why I need you there.”  He pleaded, stepping towards the cynic. 

“What?”  Grantaire practically screamed, “So you need me now, to make sure you eat and sleep?  You love me?”  His voice dripped with sarcasm, “You can’t live without me?” 

“No, ‘Aire,” Enjolras cut him off, “I mean–well…yes, I love you.  I _can_ live without you.  I did before I met you, and I have since you left–” 

“ _You_ left.”  Grantaire breathed harshly. 

“I–yes, I did.  I left, but you walked out, and…sorry, this isn’t what I’m trying to say.”   

“Then, what are you trying to say?”  He demanded. 

“I’m trying to say, I love you!  I do!  And, maybe I can live without you, but that doesn’t mean I want to!  Grantaire, when you’re with me, I’m sharper, healthier, and for god’s sake, I’m happier.  You make me happy.  God, I…”  His voice faded, as tears filled his eyes.  He wiped at them, with his hands, before taking a deep breath and continuing, “You make me better.  You complete me.  I function without you, but then, it’s only functioning.  And, while there are things I fight for, to make the world better for others…you are the one, the only thing I need to make the world better for me.” 

Grantaire may have stopped breathing over the course of this monologue.  _You need me…you need me?  You need me._  

“And, I understand…after the way I treated you, if you don’t want to be in a relationship anymore.  I would completely respect that, but please, just…if you’re just there, in New York, even if we’re not dating, that would make all the difference in the world.  Please, at least think about it.  You have no idea how much I’ve missed you…” 

_Oh, I think I do.  Do you really think I haven’t wanted you back, since we were apart?_  

After what seemed an eternity, Grantaire spoke carefully, “Now, you see…I don’t think I could be near you, without being with you.  After what we had, I would never be able to handle being close to you, without having you fully.” 

Though it was just barely perceptible, Enjolras’s face fell.  In his eyes, he looked devastated. 

“So, I guess…” Grantaire continued, “My going with you would fully depend on whether or not you want to start this relationship again.” 

Enjolras looked like he didn’t quite understand what he was hearing, “Wait–you want to be–you would take me back?” 

Grantaire nearly laughed at the absurdity.  “What have I ever done, that could possibly make you think that I have stopped loving you?” 

Enjolras stared and blinked.  “I never thought–I didn’t think you could still want–I mean, I had resigned myself to…After everything–” 

“After everything, I’m just as in love with you, as I always was.” 

Even after this very direct statement, Enjolras still gaped, as if frozen, looking like he believed that if he moved, he would wake up. 

“Oh for god’s sake, Enj, kiss me.” 

Enjolras laughed and swiftly stepped forward.  His hand found the side of Grantaire’s face, and gently pulled him closer.  The instant their lips met, Grantaire responded immediately to the kiss.    _Ohgodyes…_ Kissing Enjolras came back to him as easily as breathing.  Enjolras’s hand slid from his face to the back of his neck, while his other arm wound around Grantaire’s back, holding him tightly.  Grantaire tangled one hand in Enjolras’s hair, _which had grown out_ , and anchored himself by gripping the man’s shoulder with his other. 

Grantaire pulled back, when he tasted salt in the kiss. 

“Enj…” Lightly, he wiped the tears from the revolutionary’s face, “You’re crying…” 

Enjolras leaned in to softly peck him on the lips, “I’m sorry.  I just really never thought…I mean, I figured I would be lucky, if you decided that I wasn’t the scum of the earth.” 

“I would never think that of you.” 

“I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have left you.”  Enjolras confessed. 

“It’s alright.  You came back.” 

“Still…” 

In the place of an answer Grantaire leaned up to kiss him deeply.  He gently pushed Enjolras back until the back of the blond’s knees hit the couch.  Enjolras took the hint, sitting down, so Grantaire could straddle his lap. 

Smiling up at him, and looking much less ragged than before, Enjolras whispered, “I love you.” 

Grantaire grinned brightly.  _What last made me feel such joy?  I am almost certain it was you._ “I love you.” 

_He loves me!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, so this story is nearly over. There are two more chapters, which will wrap a bunch of stuff up. Thank you, everyone, for your comments and love.


	25. Chapter 25

Their kisses never felt like a fight.  As combative as their words could be, their kisses were exploratory, and while not always gentle, they never needed to battle.  Lips and tongues just moved together, perfectly fitted to each other and understanding of exactly what to do, while constantly trying to learn more. 

If Grantaire had ever second-guessed himself and imagined that he had over-romanticized kissing Enjolras, he was wrong.  When they had first started dating, Grantaire discovered that Enjolras was an incredibly fast learner, who quickly figured out each way to make Grantaire breathless with just a kiss.  And, now, Grantaire knew for certain, not that he had ever doubted it, that Enjolras’s memory was also infallible.  Enjolras’s mouth moved perfectly in tandem with Grantaire’s, as if they had never been apart.  As if it hadn’t been months, since their last kiss.  He was amazed that they hadn’t forgotten. 

_Perhaps, our mouths are just always meant to be against one another’s._  

Grantaire nearly made himself giddy with this thought and pressed even more insistently against the revolutionary’s deceptively soft lips.  Enjolras’s hand moved from where it had been stabilizing Grantaire’s hips across his own to the black-haired man’s shoulders, drawing him as close as possible.  They sighed into each other, mouths capturing all sound and breath.  All Grantaire wanted in that moment was to always keep his lips on those of his love forever.  Just to kiss and kiss _and kiss and kiss…_  

Then, Grantaire felt a vibration against his thigh. 

Pulling away, he gasped a small laugh, and smiling at Enjolras, he asked, “Is that your phone in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?” 

It took a moment before Enjolras came back to himself, just a beat before his eyes refocused and he noticed the obstinate buzzing from his pocket.  Enjolras shook his head and blinked, as if to clear his head, “Probably both,” he groaned, “We did just run out of a party.  People are probably worried.” 

Grantaire leaned in slightly, not kissing Enjolras, just sharing the same air, inhaling.  “Do you want to check the message?” 

“All I really want is to keep kissing you…”

He answered by acquiescing, and pressing kisses to Enjolras’s jaw and cheek, before a light kiss on his lips.  Reluctantly, he kept it short, moving back, and shifting from straddling Enjolras to sitting next to him.  “You really should answer.  As you said, folks probably think one of us is dead.” 

“I didn’t say that…” Enjolras turned his head, to smirk at Grantaire. 

“Close enough.”  Grantaire shrugged. 

Enjolras leaned his head against Grantaire’s shoulder for a second, before he sat up and checked his phone. 

“Who’s it from?”  Grantaire inquired. 

“Missed call from Combeferre…and a picture message from Jehan.” 

“Picture message?” 

Enjolras flipped the screen on his phone.  His eyebrows raised slightly, “He says he sent it to you, as well…” 

Quickly, he whipped out his own phone.  There were several messages, all begging him to return to the party and panicking over his swift exit, many of which were from Jehan, but he immediately went to the one image from the poet. 

Grantaire’s lips parted slightly.  The photo was one of him and Enjolras, arms around one another on the dance floor.  _Right before the flash had broken his concentration on Enjolras._ The text itself read: 

_Look at you two!  Look at his face!  Before you do something rash, look.  He loves you.  There is no denying the way he looks at you.  HE LOVES YOU!_  

He let the joy wash over him.  Had he seen this before Enjolras arrived, he would not have believed it, but Jehan was right, and that made a grin cross his face. 

“You know…” Enjolras mused, with the side of his lip quirking up slightly, “This may be my new favorite photo.” 

“Really?”  Grantaire inspected his phone, unsure of whether or not he should take it as an affront.  “It’s a photo taken from a phone.  And, I love Jehan, but he’s not a photographer–” 

Enjolras leaned over, kissing Grantaire to silence him, “‘Aire, my love, you miss the point.  As art, your photos will always be the best…this one is my favorite, because we’re in it together.” 

For some reason this caused a blush to creep up Grantaire’s neck and cheeks.  He felt warm, as Enjolras nuzzled his nose against his cheek.  He reached over and twined his fingers through the blond’s.  Enjolras squeezed his hand, and kissed his cheek. 

Grantaire was about to turn his head to kiss him properly, when the door flew open. 

“Oh, thank god!” 

Both of the men on the couch snapped their heads to see Eponine standing in the doorway, “‘Ferre, they’re here…”  She called out the door, then glancing at their still joined hands, “Together!” 

Combeferre came bounding into the room, looking relieved, “You two…we were all so worried.  You need to text us.” 

“Sorry, I was busy.”  Enjolras explained. 

“I know.”  Combeferre smiled, “I’m glad this is what we found.” 

“This?”  Grantaire looked confused. 

“We hypothesized that you two would either end up dead or happily in each other’s arms.  Judging by your ruffled hair and clothes…and the lack of unmoving bodies, I would assume it was option two.”  Combeferre explained and winked. 

Grantaire laughed, “Smart friends we have, huh?” 

“Oh, yes.”  Enjolras agreed. 

“E, have you asked him?”  Combeferre inquired, suddenly serious. 

“I have.” 

“And?” 

“He said ‘yes.’”  A small, fond smile played at Enjolras’s lips, and he tightened his fingers around Grantaire’s hand again. 

“Good.”  Immediately, the philosopher turned to his girlfriend, “Eponine, will you move to New York with me?” 

The young woman looked stunned, “Huh?” 

Combeferre’s smile was gentle and hopeful, as he explained, “You see, Enjolras has just now asked Grantaire to move to New York with him, as there is a job opportunity for both of them, and because Enjolras isn’t functional without him.  Trust me, I know, I’ve been the one dealing with it for a while,” he glared goodnaturedly at Enjolras, “And, if I’m going to take him correctly, Grantaire has just agreed to it.” 

“Yes.”  Enjolras was blushing.  Grantaire found it incredibly sweet and kissed him quickly. 

“So, at this time, there are a couple problems.  If I’m not mistaken, Grantaire leaving, puts you out of a roommate, and Grantaire coming puts me out of one as well.  I believe these problems could be solved by you moving to New York as well.  Grantaire and Enjolras could find themselves an apartment, and you…” he took a breath, “could move into mine.” 

By the end, Eponine was grinning.  From the couch, Grantaire said, “You know, ‘Ponine, our manager was discussing a possible transfer of personnel to the NYC branch.  I think you’d have a good shot at the job.” 

“Fuck, if I have to work as a bartender, I’ll do it.”  Eponine threw her arms around Combeferre’s neck and kissed him soundly.  

When the kiss ended, she pushed his glasses back up his nose.   

“So, yes?”  Combeferre verified. 

“Yes.”  She grinned and kissed him again.

* * *

After the newly reunited couples had contacted all their other friends, assuring them that they were alright, they enjoyed coffee and tea, before all retiring to bed. 

Eponine and Combeferre exited to Eponine’s room.  Enjolras stood awkwardly for a moment, before Grantaire rolled his eyes, grasped the man’s hand and pulled him to the bedroom.  “You insane man, of course you’re staying with me tonight.” 

“I didn’t want to assume.” 

Grantaire tugged him closer, planting a kiss on his lips.  “I think you can assume many things for tonight,” Grantaire murmured into Enjolras’s ear, before letting his tongue run lightly along the edge and sucking softly on his earlobe. 

Enjolras shuddered, “‘Aire…” 

Playfully, Grantaire drew away from him to sit at the head of the bed.  Enjolras instantly followed, climbing on top of Grantaire half pressing him against the wall.  Their mouths met eagerly, and Enjolras slotted himself, so they were entirely pressed together, letting Grantaire slide further down, so he was lying completely on the bed. 

Grantaire inhaled deeply, wrapping his arms around Enjolras’s neck and threading his fingers through the curls at the base of his head. 

When they made love that night, it was slow and tender, very much like their last night together. 

But, this time, Grantaire knew it wasn’t an ending, but a beginning.


	26. Chapter 26

Grantaire woke in the middle of the night to soft kisses across his collarbone and shoulder.  He giggled, “Enj, that tickles.” 

He felt the press of lips to his neck, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” 

“It’s fine.”  He turned to look at Enjolras, who, though he was a being of the sun, was incredibly lovely in the moonlight.  However, at the moment, he was biting his lower lip nervously, and that concerned Grantaire deeply, “What’s wrong?” 

Enjolras forced an unconvincing smile to his face, “Nothing.”  He shook his head and gently took Grantaire’s hand in his. 

“You’re lying.” 

“It’s silly.”  Enjolras was studying their fingers. 

“I doubt that, and I wouldn’t care if it were.”  Grantaire tried to smile reassuringly. 

“How…while I was gone…how many people have you been with?”  It looked as though Enjolras was consumed with guilt for just asking, but that didn’t help ease Grantaire’s tension. 

“What?” 

“You just…I mean there was already a box of condoms in the drawer, and–” 

“We weren’t together, Enj.” 

“I know–” 

“What if I told you that was leftover from us?  What would you say?” 

“I would…I’d be thrilled…was it?”  He didn’t sound particularly hopeful. 

“No.  It’s not.  I’ve slept with a lot people, while you’ve been gone.”  Grantaire rolled over to turn his back to Enjolras.  _What now?_  

“‘Aire, love, please, I’m not mad.”  His arms slipped around Grantaire’s waist, and he pressed his lips repeatedly to Grantaire’s spine, “I mean.  I’m jealous of anyone who you slept with, because they received your attention.  They had the gift of your heart and body, while I was taking myself in hand, with only thoughts of you.  But, you’re right.  We weren’t together, and I wouldn’t expect you to deny yourself anything, because I was gone.” 

Grantaire let himself minimally relax into Enjolras’s embrace.  “They never had my heart.”  He murmured.  _Taking yourself in hand?_   “Were you with anyone?  I can’t believe all the New York singles were blind.” 

Enjolras laughed, sending puffs of air across Grantaire’s shoulder.  “No.  I went on a couple dates, but nothing ever felt right.  I couldn’t get over you, which is of course what led me to beg at your door.” 

“I never got over you.  The hookups were my way of trying…” 

“And, it didn’t succeed?”  Enjolras’s mouth was curved into a smile pressed against Grantaire’s spine. 

“Not at all.  Really, they all looked like you.” 

“What?” 

“Blond hair, blue eyes, strong jaw and cheekbones.”  Grantaire explained, softly, “Usually I was drunk, and I could imagine.  It never lasted past the morning, when I had to stop pretending.” 

“They all looked like me?” 

“If I can’t worship Apollo, why shouldn’t I at least admire the image?  False, though it may be.” 

“‘Aire, please.”  Enjolras whispered. 

“What?” 

“Please, don’t call me ‘Apollo.’”  He pleaded. 

Grantaire turned to face him, “Why?” 

“I just–it scares me when you do…” 

“It’s meant to be a compliment.”  Grantaire ducked his head, looking way from Enjolras’s eyes. 

“Hey–hey, look at me.”  Enjolras tipped his chin up and kissed him.  “I know it is, and I appreciate it, but…it’s taken me a very long time to understand what ‘Apollo’ means, and now that I do, I would rather–” 

“What it means?  Enj, it means that I think you’re beautiful, and I love you!” 

“No.  It means you worship me.  I don’t think you mean to, but you call me ‘Apollo,’ when you don’t think you can reach me…when we first met, when we fight, when you get very drunk, when we were…apart.” 

_I didn’t even realize that…_  

“You say it, when you don’t think you deserve me, and I don’t want that.  Ever.  I never want you to believe that you are unworthy of me, because it has never been the case, and it frightens me when you think it.” 

Grantaire spoke quietly, “I’m sorry.” 

“No, don’t apologize.  It’s as much my fault as anything else.  I let you think these things, instead of being clear.  Instead of making you understand and believe that I have always loved you, and that you are second to no one.”  Enjolras pulled him closer into his arms, pressing kisses to the top of Grantaire’s head, as the other man burrowed into Enjolras’s chest. 

“You are my everything…I just wanted you to know that.”  Grantaire half-apologized to the blond’s collarbone. 

“I do.”  Enjolras kissed his forehead, then his nose, then his lips, “I do, and I thank you.  But, I don’t need worshippers.  I am not higher than you or anyone.  All I need to be happy, to be complete, is for you to love me.” 

Grantaire smiled, “I can do that.”

* * *

They woke again late the next morning. 

Holding hands, they walked from the bedroom to the living room, letting go of each other, only when Jehan came bolting forward, instantly trapping Grantaire in his arms, “I knew it!  I knew it!  I knew it would end like this!  I knew you two would find each other!” 

“You didn’t know.  You were panicking half of last night.”  Courfeyrac mused from the corner. 

“Oh hush, you.”  Jehan smiled back at Courfeyrac, who grinned to match him. 

Grantaire hugged Jehan firmly, “Of all the things in this city, little one, I will miss you most of all.” 

Quickly, Jehan pulled away, with wide eyes, “You’re leaving me?” 

“Moving to NYC with Enj.  Ep will be joining ‘Ferre.” 

“You, too?”  Jehan asked, looking to Eponine, who was entering with Combeferre in tow. 

“Sorry, love.”  The right corner of Eponine’s mouth twitched up in an apologetic smile. 

“No, don’t be sorry.”  A bright smile broke across Jehan’s face, and suddenly the world seemed to make more sense.  “I’m so happy for you both.”  He walked over to hug Eponine tightly.  “I’ll miss you, though.” 

“Don’t worry, Jehan,” Enjolras assured, “It’s not like we can stay away for very long.” 

Jehan made his way to Enjolras, hugging him in turn, “You already left me.”  He said into Enjolras’s chest. 

“I came back, didn’t I?” 

“Yes, but not for me.”  Jehan pulled away to glance at Grantaire. 

Enjolras blushed lightly.  “No…but, I promise we’ll be back soon.” 

“And New York isn’t so far,” Combeferre encouraged.  “You could come visit, if you like.” 

“Yeah!”  Courfeyrac wrapped his arms around Jehan, “We’ll see them.  I’ll just say, ‘my beautiful boyfriend is pouting and sad,’ and they won’t be able to help but run back to you.” 

_That’s not inaccurate.  No one can stand to see Jehan sad…_  

“But!”  Courfeyrac announced, “Before that, we need to have a celebration!” 

“A going away party?”  Eponine asked. 

“Partly, yes.”  Courfeyrac plastered on a true showman’s grin and stepped forward, “But, also to celebrate the fact that these two idiots finally got their act together.”  He waved at Grantaire and Enjolras.  “Because, seriously…” his smile softened, “We have been hoping for this forever.”

* * *

At the party Courfeyrac played music that was too loud. 

Bahorel drank inordinate amounts, to the point of boisterousness, while Feuilly laughed at him. 

Joly didn’t drink at all, because he was unsure that the cups were sanitary.  Bossuet spilled his beverage four times, before he gave up drinking.  Musichetta laughed at her boys and played bartender for the crowd. 

Jehan danced and sang, and occasionally grabbed people’s arms to write poetry on their hands.  On Grantaire, he wrote in delicate script: 

_So follow your heart and never give up,_

_as dreams and wishes do come true,_

_for I know that someday we'll meet again,_

_so never forget I will be praying for you._  

Eponine spent most of the night in Combeferre’s lap. 

Grantaire drank, but not to the point of drunkenness.  He wanted to remember the night.  Enjolras looked at him warily, but smiled after he stopped with his second drink. 

Enjolras never left Grantaire’s side.  They danced once, swaying to a heavy beat.  Most often, their hands were entwined, though they had to let go, when Feuilly filled their glasses, when Jehan embraced them, or when Courfeyrac on a dare, picked Enjolras up and threw him over his shoulder.  But, each time he let go, Enjolras’s hand came right to Grantaire’s as soon as it was free. 

Over the next few days, they would plan and discuss logistics.  How they would actually move in together in New York: ends of leases, moving vans, all of their issues that had so far been left untouched.  But tonight, they had a final celebration, well final for the near future, with their friends, and took comfort in the fact that apparently, no matter how many walls and barriers they had put between themselves, they were pulled together like magnets.  As they had been in the photo Jehan took of them, constantly drawn to each other’s arms.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Poem is “Goodbye My Dearest Friend” by Leilani Hermosa Petersen.
> 
> Also, thank you for everyone who stuck with this. I have really appreciated all your love and feedback. This is the end of this story, though I am planning to write/upload some offshoot oneshots and scenes from other POVs. If you really would like to see something, please leave it in the comments.

**Author's Note:**

> This story got away with me. This is only the very beginning. There will be pain and feels and sweetness and healing. Possible future triggers will be violence and alcoholism and withdrawal.
> 
> However, I have had a ton of fun writing it, and I hope you will all enjoy it. I would love feedback, if you are so inclined.
> 
> It also has inspired a whole universe, which I will hopefully, eventually explore.
> 
> Will be x-posted on FF.net


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